I Breathe You

by Lori L. Clark

  He pulls a face like he’s just swallowed curdled milk. I know his head is filled with a string of questions, but he decides it’s probably best just to agree. “We’ll swing by on our way home. It’s on the way.”

  My mouth goes dry and I pull nervously at my earlobe. What happens if we stop by Ian’s house and Mrs. Ian answers the door? A serious look of distaste crosses my face. Gwen pats my arm reassuringly. She leans closer and whispers, “Nothing to worry about.”

  Throughout dinner, Gwen talks about spending time with her brother. Her eyes dance animatedly. It’s obvious by the glow on her face how much she’s looking forward to the trip. T even seems happy about hanging out with me for a couple of days.

  I wish I could say I share their enthusiasm, but I’m torn. Part of me wonders if it’s such a great idea. I mean, I want to spend time with T, but would honestly rather spend it within the comfort zone of this house.

  I poke at my food. Icy fingers of dread have wrapped around my stomach strangling out what little appetite I had. T finishes his food and eyes me curiously. “You gonna eat that?” as he nods toward the generous slice of ham on my plate. I shake my head no and quick as a blink, his hand darts out and he stabs the slab of ham with his fork.

  My mouth drops open. “Don’t you ever get full?”

  His eyes smile. “Nope.”

  Later, I help Gwen clear the table and the three of us wander down the hall to the piano room. There are a few colorfully wrapped packages under the giant Christmas tree waiting for us. Like an overgrown kid, T dives right in, sorting out the presents. He hands two of the boxes to me. Surprised, my mouth forms an “O.” Yesterday when I snooped around under the tree, there wasn’t anything for me. T plops onto the couch and holds the gift Gwen and I bought for him under his nose. Most people shake their presents. T sniffs his.

  My lip curls. “What are you doing?”

  “What?” he asks, as his eyes crinkle at the corners with mischief.

  “Nothing. It’s perfectly normal for people to smell their gifts before they open them,” I say, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth to stave off a grin.

  He clears his throat and shrugs before tearing into the wrapping paper with the vengeance of a child hoping for a pony. He pulls out one of the expensive cigars and breathes in the scent. Closing his eyes, he savors the aroma with a huge grin plastered across his face. He pops the end in his mouth and flicks his new lighter.

  “Ahem,” Gwen clears her throat pointedly.

  He winks at me. “Just messing with ya,” he says and tucks the unlit cigar back into the box. “Thank you both.”

  I snicker. “Glad you like it. I wanted to get you a cemetery plot, but she wouldn’t let me.” I nod at Gwen accusingly. She rolls her eyes.

  Gwen acts surprised to see the Amazon gift card I’ve printed out and tucked into an envelope for her.

  She bought a new journal for me. It’s white with black music notes decorating the cover. “Is this a hint?” I tease.

  “It’s for you to fill with all the songs you’re going to be writing,” she smiles.

  T gives me a Visa gift card to use however I want. I tell him I’m going to buy a one-way plane ticket to anywhere warmer than here. I’ll lie on the beach, drink fruity drinks, while gleaning inspiration for all the great lyrics I’m going to fill my new journal with. His face pales a little, and I tell him I’m only kidding.

  Finally, T glances at his watch and I take that as a hint that he’s ready to get going. I hug Gwen goodbye and tell her to have a good trip. “Don’t even think about staying in Columbia,” I warn. “T would starve to death.”

  She chuckles, hugging me back. “Christmas is for making dreams come true. Think about whatever it is you want more than anything else and make a wish,” she whispers in my ear and I wonder if she’s got a secret wish for me herself.

  I feel my pulse in my throat and blink back the sentimental tears on the verge of spoiling a perfectly good moment. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell her.

  Chapter 42

  I haven’t spent a lot of time with T at his place, but I know enough to recognize that we’re not headed in the right direction. My eyebrows squish together in the dimly lit interior of the car. “Where are you going?”

  His eyes never leave the street in front of us as he says, “To drop off that Christmas gift. Remember?”

  I turn away from him and rub the back of my neck. My muscles tense at the thought of going to Ian’s house. “Maybe you should call him first? I mean what if he’s not there?”

  “Truthfully? I hope he’s not home. Get in, get out, get home,” he mutters. Sometimes, his logic just pisses me off.

  My hopes are quickly dashed when T coasts to a stop in front of a small, blue, ranch-style house. Every light in the place is on and Ian’s truck is in the drive. Parked in the street in front of the house is a silver Infinity. My pulse quickens and I play with my hair nervously.

  “Here we are,” T says quietly. When I try to hand him Emmy’s gift he stares at me for a few seconds. “I think it would mean more if you gave it to her in person, don’t you?”

  I pull a frown and stare down at my hands before nodding slowly. “Okay.”

  T climbs out and walks around to open my door. “I’ll go with you if you’d like,” he offers. It’s a kind gesture, which I decline.

  “No, I’ll be right back,” I say, sliding from the car. I trudge the short distance to the front door and ring the bell. The door opens and my heart drops into the bottom of my stomach.

  A woman with the frozen look of someone who’s had a few too many plastic surgeries trying to restore her looks of youth stands there. Her hair is an unnatural shade of maroon and her makeup has been applied with a spatula. She gives me a look filled with disdain and major inconvenience. I recognize it from the same down-the-nose look my mother often gave the delivery people. “Yes? May I help you?” she asks.

  I flinch from the tone of her voice. “Hello.” I pause. Do I ask for Ian? Do I just toss the bag at her like it’s holding a bomb and take off running toward the car? Before I’m able to do anything, I hear Ian’s voice from behind her.

  “Who’s at the door, Margaret?”

  She swings the door open wide enough for him to see me standing there cowering with my knees locked together in fear. “Rhane! What a surprise!” I don’t have time to react before his hand firmly locks around my elbow and he pulls me inside. Turning to his daughter, he says cheerfully, “Emmy, look who’s here!”

  “Ian?” Margaret stares at him questioningly at the same time Emmy latches herself around my legs. She wraps her delicate hand around my coat sleeve and leads me toward the interior of the home with surprising tenacity.

  “Come on, Maggie. We’ve got to leave if we’re going to make that show.” A silver-haired gentleman, who I hadn’t noticed before, steps forward and hands the woman an expensive looking fur coat. I feel her eyes boring into my back.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Ian tells the couple.

  While they’re gone, I can only imagine how the conversation is going. Judging from the way Maggie glowered at me as though I was a lumpy spot of bird crap splattered in her hair, she probably has a lot to say, I’m sure.

  The brightly lit Christmas tree in the front room is a twin to the one Ian brought for Gwen and me. Emmy fingers a silver charm bracelet around her wrist, taking care to point out the tiny grand piano swinging back and forth.

  I touch the delicate piano and smile. “Just like mine,” I tell her.

  She grins and points at the package still clutched in my sweat-dampened hands. I grin and hand it to her. “For you.”

  The front door closes with a solid thud, indicating Ian’s conversation has left him less than pleased. I can’t seem to talk myself into turning around to face him, choosing instead to watch Emmy. I feel his presence behind me. The electricity between us radiates, quickly using up the slice of air between us. My heart wrenches, wanting desperately to feel his
arms around me.

  The whisper of his breath tickles my ear as he leans closer. “I’ve missed you.”

  I stiffen momentarily and step away from him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company,” I apologize.

  “Margaret and Spencer O’Meara, Aubrey’s parents, hardly qualify as welcome company. They were just on their way out anyway.”

  “Oh.” I turn away from Emmy to chance a peek at Ian. “T’s waiting for me. I just wanted to drop off a little something for Emmy from Gwen. And me.”

  “I’m glad you’re here. Hang on, I’ll be right back,” his eyes shine. I take a deep breath and nod my head once before he hurries out of the room.

  My thoughts scatter as I look about the cozy living room. I glance at the clock, nervously shifting my weight from one foot to the other. Emmy peers at me, she holds up the unopened gift. “Let’s wait for your dad so he can watch you open it,” I suggest.

  Ian’s enters the room and Emmy impatiently waves the gift in her hands to catch his attention.

  Ian smiles, and tells her, “Go ahead, let’s see what it is.”

  She rips into the wrapping paper, removing a small red velvet box. When she flips open the lid I see the tiny silver ring with a heart-shaped pink stone. Emmy hops up and down with delight before wrapping her arms around me. I blink away happy tears and lean down to hug her back.

  “That’s your birthstone,” he tells her. She nods, credulous. “What do you say?”

  Emmy motions with her hand as though she’s blowing me a kiss. I glance sideways at Ian, my eyebrows squished together. He laughs, and tells me she’s saying thank you. I respond with a thumbs up. “You’re welcome.”

  Ian hands me two small packages. One is obviously a CD, and the other is about the size of a deck of cards. He points at the wrapped CD and suggests, “Go ahead, open this one right now.”

  I blink, “Okay.” I slide a fingernail under the tape, taking care to hide the nervousness my shaking hands threaten to give away. When the wrapping paper falls away, I see that he’s gotten me a limited edition copy of “The Essential Janis Joplin.”

  “I love it!” I tell him. I’m feeling a little embarrassed that I haven’t brought anything for him. “Thank you. Where did you find it?”

  “Addy made Emmy and I go Christmas shopping with her the other day, and when we went into C-D-F-G, the music store in town, I knew I had to get this for you. You need to check that place out sometime,” he says and his eyes sparkle.

  Apparently the “other woman” Gwen and I saw him in town with was his sister. I cheerfully tuck this good piece of news away and smile up at him. “You honestly didn’t have to get me anything,” I protest weakly. “But I’m glad you did.”

  “I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to,” he says with a huge grin splitting his face. He nods at the other package, adding, “Don’t open that one until Christmas.”

  “Okay,” I roll my eyes at him. “I’ve got to go before T starts honking his horn or leaves me here.”

  “And the downside of that would be…?” he teases. His hand feels like a branding iron sizzling against my lower back as he guides me toward the door. I reach for the doorknob and he lays his palm flat against it, keeping me from pulling it open. My eyes focus on his lips, before drifting up to his eyes. “Would it be alright if I kissed you goodnight?” he whispers.

  I quickly check for Emmy, and see that she’s happily engrossed in “The Princess Bride” on the TV. My stomach flutters as I remember him telling me the next time he kissed me, he wouldn’t stop. I start to feel as though I might spontaneously combust under his smoldering gaze, and I nod my response.

  With both hands on either side of my face, he draws me closer. I lean into him and close my eyes. The butterfly soft brush of his lips as they touch briefly against first my right eyelid, then my left, causes my knees to nearly buckle. He pauses. I open my eyes and watch him carefully, running my tongue over my lower lip with a need so terrible I’m not sure I can take the torturous teasing.

  He exhales noisily and smoothes his thumbs over my cheeks. He gives me a chaste kiss on the lips, “Merry Christmas, Sunshine.”

  Wait. What? That’s it? I want to pound my fists against his chest and beg him to kiss me like he means it. But then I remember Emmy in the next room and manage to control my libido. “Merry Christmas, Ian. Goodnight.” I turn to leave, trying like hell to maintain my composure while I carry myself on quaking legs out to T’s car.

  Chapter 43

  The next morning at about nine, T shuffles back into the kitchen for his third cup of coffee. He stares blankly out the window at the gently falling snow. “Looks like we’re going to have a white Christmas this year, baby girl,” he mumbles.

  “That’s nice,” I respond, disinterested in hearing his weather report. I sit at the table, the package Ian gave me last night taunting me. I turn it over in my hands, hold it up to my ear, and shake.

  T watches me with amusement lighting his eyes. He leans against the counter, sipping on his coffee. “Sniff it. That’s what I’d do,” he comments.

  “The only thing I’ll be able to smell in here is your stale cigarette smoke,” I whisper without taking my eyes off the small, colorfully wrapped gift.

  “Don’t judge me,” he says reaching for the ever-present pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket.

  “Oh, I’m not judging you, not at all. But I bet the reason you’re still single is because your breath smells like tobacco-coated ass.”

  Instead of being offended, T tips his head back and laughs heartily. “I’m single because it’s more convenient that way.”

  My mouth twists into a smirk. “Maybe you and Gwen could hook up. Of course, you’ll need to stop smoking like a chimney first.”

  His laughter abruptly cuts off and the color drains from his face. “That’s not even funny.”

  “What? You could do a lot worse,” as I hold up my fingers to tick off her qualities. “She cleans, she cooks, she’s self-sufficient. She takes control. I bet she likes it on top.”

  T spits his coffee back into the cup, glaring at me, “Do you mind? That’s just wrong, I don’t want to discuss this with you.”

  “Isn’t there a song about that?” I tap my index finger against my mouth, thinking. “Oh yeah…something, something, you’ll like it on top. That’s it.” I watch smugly as T’s cheeks bloom into a brilliant shade of red.

  His eyes narrow and he croaks out. “Thanks for painting that picture. You do realize that every time I see that woman from now on, I’ll start hearing that song in my head. I’ll never be able to sit across the table and look at her in the same way again.”

  I giggle. “Aw, T. You know I’m only messing with you.”

  “Some things are just not joke material,” he says and shakes his head. “And there are certain words that should never be uttered in the same sentence. Gwen and sex are two such words.” He gives an exaggerated allover body shudder.

  To change the subject, I hold up the box I’ve been playing with. “What do you think this is?”

  He shrugs. “How should I know? Open it and see.”

  I put the gift down again and shake my head. “No. He made me promise not to open it until tomorrow.”

  “Who’s going to know?”

  “Me.”

  “Suit yourself.” He rinses out his coffee cup and puts it in the sink. “I’m going to take a shower. I want to get down to Schmuck’s before all the good stuff is gone.”

  At ten fifty-five T and I are passing through the front door of Schmuck’s Bar. One quick glance around the place and it’s obvious — we’ve left modern day civilization behind. Judging from the dark interior, which smells of a mixture of floor cleaning compound and Old Crow Whiskey, I’ve time-warped back to the sixties, complete with the animated Hamm’s Beer sign hanging behind the bar.

  A thin, red-faced man wearing an apron hoists a huge roaster across the room. Several tables have been set up in the back, skirting the dil
apidated pool table situated beneath a vintage Falstaff light. The man nods at T, “Hey Bones, help a man out, would ya?”

  My eyebrows shoot up, and I glance sideways at T. “Bones? Seriously?”

  “Don’t start,” T warns. He waves at the man, “Sure thing, Schmuck.”

  “Oh, dear God,” I mutter, shaking my head.

  I help T and Billy — I refuse to call the man Schmuck — put out enough food to feed the entire county. The handful of people who were here when we arrived has grown into a pretty sizeable crowd.

  “Let’s grab a couple barstools while we still can,” T suggests and guides me toward the bar.

  I shrug out of my coat and drape it over one of the few remaining stools at the end of the L-shaped bar next to the mirrored wall. I order a bottle of beer from the woman behind the bar. Her name is Peggy. She’s Mrs. Schmuck, she informs me. T throws his jacket over the stool next to mine but doesn’t sit.

  I watch as he puts his quarters on the ancient pool table and nods his head at the two men already playing. He grabs two bowls of chili and another plate to pile high with a little bit of everything. I’m amazed he’s able to balance it all while avoiding the people clustered about the place. I reach for one of the bowls of chili and he gives me a death glare. “Ahem, baby girl. These are mine. Get your own.”

  My mouth drops open. “Fine, but don’t come bitching to me later when your guts are on fire.” I slide off the barstool and make my way toward the tables of food, dodging the cues of the men shooting pool.

  Later, while nibbling on a carrot stick dunked in ranch dressing, I spin around on the barstool to watch T win a game of pool. Once the table’s his, he shouts in my direction, “Come on, baby girl I bet I can still kick your ass.”

  I tip my head back and laugh. T taught me the game when I was barely tall enough to see over the top of the giant billiards table in my parents’ family room. I used to be pretty damn good. But I haven’t played in forever.

  “My money’s on the pretty girl,” says some guy as he playfully slaps T on the back. He extends his hand in my direction, “Hey. I’m Sam.”