Breathe

by Amber Lacie

  After my conversation with him, I called Janel to let her know about all the fine-tuned details. Once again, she screamed excitedly in my ear before I could even finish telling her what would be expected of us. Janel would stay in Bloomington for now. With the different regions Escapes would now reside in, we would be able to offer our buyers a larger field of artwork to choose from. Janel genuinely sounded happy and for the first time in a long time, I felt happy.

  I end the call with Janel and close my eyes, while leaning against Mark’s desk. Pressing my palm against my chest, I send Holden a silent ‘thank you’. There is no way that I could have done any of this without him. It was his love for me, and his faith in my creativity that has gotten me this far. I hold onto the thought of wanting to celebrate with him for just a second and then I let it go.

  As I walk out of the office, I wonder if this new opportunity is one of the pieces he left behind for me to find. I can see Rebecca and Mark laughing at the dining room table, while enjoying their dinner. She gives me a wink, as I pass by them and walk into the kitchen to make myself a plate. She knows that I need some time to myself and she doesn’t push me. I join them at the table and tell them the news.

  Rebecca claps like a crazed seal, while Mark gives me one of his incredible smiles. I am so blessed to have such good friends in my life. Later that night, when I lay my head on the pillow, the thought of this being a puzzle piece Holden left for me, flutters around in my mind again. Closing my eyes, I whisper into the empty room, “In less than two months, I will be a part owner of two art galleries. I wish you were here. I miss you.” A spiced scent with a hint of citrus encircles me and I know that I am exactly where he wants me to be. I take comfort in the thought of him being here with me, even if it is just in my head, and I drift off to sleep.

  Chapter 23

  The red liquid in my glass is almost the same shade of red as what I am using to darken the lips on the silhouette of a woman, sitting lost in thought in the middle of an empty room. Nothing else surrounds her, but her thoughts. She is completely nude, resting the side of her head in the palm of her hand. The light blue shadow across the outline of her back represents the violent thoughts her mind assaults her with. Pain is visible in the darker colors swirling in her shadow on the floor. There is beauty in the way she hurts. It makes the painting come to life. It makes it real.

  Glancing down at my watch, I check the time. Three in the morning probably isn’t the best time to paint, but my brain wouldn’t turn off, and this is the only thing that calms me. I stare at the boxes sitting against the red brick wall by my studio apartment door. The bottom three have been in the same spot for the past five months. I haven’t had the strength to sort through them, yet.

  It has been one year, two months, one week, three days, nine hours, and twenty-two minutes since the last time that I spoke to Holden. It has been one year, two months, one week, three days, sixteen hours, and thirteen minutes since the last time I heard his voice. There is not one moment that goes by when I don’t think about him. I miss him so much. I never went back to Bloomington. I couldn’t. He was everywhere I looked and went, yet I couldn’t have him. I couldn’t live in a world where he was and wasn’t at the same time.

  After I closed the deal with Dorsey, I called my dad and had him pack everything in my apartment. Some things I let Janel take, but anything of Holden’s, which Carol and Walter didn’t want, were boxed up and shipped to me with the rest of my belongings. The boxes labeled Holden have been sitting in the same spot since they arrived. Carol and Walter sent me the smaller box on top of the stack a few weeks ago. There is no doubt in my mind what is inside the box. It is most likely more of Holden. Taking a deep breath, I stare at the boxes. They seem to have grown as the days have passed.

  Slamming the rest of my red liquid courage, I set down my paintbrush and start unstacking the boxes. Using my apartment keys that I find laying on the coffee table, I open the first box. His cologne wafts into the air around me. My lungs inflate, as the familiar smell relaxes my nerves. Most of his t-shirts, a few blankets from Indiana University, and his records fill the box. The second box is more of the same.

  My movements come to a complete standstill as I peer into the third box. A small brown stuffed dog is tucked into the corner of the box. Carefully picking him up, I set him in the small chair next to my easel. I smile, as I picture the stuffed toy being my next muse. I sort through all of the clothes, records, blankets, and pictures. Most of his clothes fit either in my dresser or in the closet. I keep his records in the box and slide it underneath my gray and purple futon.

  My fingers gently outline the tape on the box his parents sent me. Whatever it is, must be important for them to ship it all the way to New York. I have promised everyone that I will make a trip home over the summer. I miss them and familiar faces would be a nice change of pace. Lifting one cardboard flap and then the other, I carefully open the box.

  My heart stills, as I find the picture I took of him the night he brought me home from the hospital. The colors have faded; the bright light around his head gives off a perfectly circled glow around his head. He looks like an angel lying at the end of the bed. Tucked under his right arm is the dog I had won for him. My heart sinks, drowning me in grief as my eyes look over to the chair in the corner next to the easel. The brown stuffed dog is sitting awkwardly, half slumped over. My palm presses against my chest. There is no doubt in my mind. He is here. Holden has followed me to New York.

  I bring the picture to my lips, gently kissing Holden. Standing, I walk over to my futon and slide the picture inside my pillowcase. I always feel closest to him in my dreams. The picture is now back where it belongs. Giving up on my unpacking adventures for the night, I curl up underneath my purple blanket. I need to get some rest if I am going to make the trip to Rebecca’s for dinner. She insisted that I put my creativity on hold and join them for the night. The gallery has taken up so much of my time lately. I think a night off from all the stress eating at me will be perfect. My fingers reach into my pillowcase and clutch Holden’s picture, as I close my eyes.

  *****

  A loud screeching sound assaults my ears, pulling me from the warmth of the sun in my dreams. I smack my alarm clock several times, before knocking it to the floor, finally silencing it. Holden’s picture is tightly clutched in my fingers. I contemplate putting him in my pocket and taking him with me, but the thought of losing him makes me nauseous. I give his picture a kiss and tuck him back into my pillowcase.

  I feel like the world is crushing me. No matter what plan of action I take, the world keeps coming. Eventually, it will crush me, and everything in its path. I am not sure if I can break any more than I already have, but I am so afraid that if I let go completely, I will incinerate on impact. I don’t want to be somebody’s black hole. No one should ever have to lose someone they love, but it is not how life works. And it sucks.

  I decide not to wallow in my grief and hop into the shower. If I plan my day correctly, I will be able to make it to the gallery before I need to be at Rebecca’s. I want to get last night’s painting up in the new exhibit. Dorsey dubbed it the beauty of solitude. I wanted to call it the pain of loneliness, but Janel and Dorsey agreed it was too despairing. The goal was to bring buyers in, not push them away. When I was out-voted, I relented on pushing the issue any further. Janel and I exchange artwork often. It turns out that New York artists are preferred by one of her buyers, while one of my buyers prefers rustic sceneries. Opening the new Escapes gallery has been a fantastic journey for me. Dorsey is a marketing guru. Our name is now featured globally. He is pushing for a London venue, but I keep declining. There is no way that I could handle something like this overseas. My feet aren’t wet enough, yet.

  I am not sure what to wear to dinner, so I throw on a pair of black slacks and a sleeveless, gray, silk blouse. I pin my hair back on one side, so that it is tucked behind my ear, leaving the rest of it down, so the curls fall down my back and over my shoulder.
Slipping on my black coat, I double-check my overnight bag to make sure that I have everything I will need. I toss my keys into my purse, carefully grab my painting, and slip into my favorite pair of black stilettos. They do wonders for my height. My cab should be here any minute. I quickly look around my small apartment and lock the door behind me.

  I must give Dorsey credit. Originally, the studio I wanted was on the second floor, but he convinced me that the first floor would be easier to manage. He was right. There was no way that I could make it down two flights of stairs in these shoes and carry all of this without tripping. I push open the front door and smile at the cab driver waiting on me. He doesn’t return the smile. No one has, but I have hopes that eventually someone will smile at me. There is no way everyone here is that callous. I carefully slide my belongings into the back of the cab, and I slip into my seat. I barely have the door shut, before he drives off. Yelling over his shoulder I give him Escape’s address.

  Eighteen minutes later and we are finally pulling up along the curb. I had the sign replicated to mirror the original one. I love its uniqueness. No other building is quite like ours and I love it. Heather, the assistant Dorsey hired for me, is waiting in my office with a notepad and pencil in hand. This poor girl has a degree in business management and the only jobs I have given her so far is to get the mail, bring me coffee, and take any messages I may get. It can’t be very exciting, but she does it with a forced smile, if you can call it that, on her freckled face. She reminds me a bit of Punky Brewster, but in a suit and with matching shoes.

  “Good morning, Miss Winters.”

  “It’s Carsten. We’ve been over this.”

  “Sorry, I keep forgetting.” She fidgets with her ponytail. I hate that I make her nervous.

  As I set down the canvas on one of the brown leather chairs across from my desk, I get an idea. I need to let her have a chance at managing things, it is why she is here. “Heather, I need you to display this for me. I don’t want it centered, the focus should remain on Paul’s piece, but I would like this included with the solitude gallery. I will need this done today. After that, I will need any messages or mail from yesterday, since I was unable to make it in. If you need me, I’ll be conferencing with Janel over the phone this morning.” I give her no eye contact, so all my faith is put in her ability to listen and follow directions the one time they are given.

  “Absolutely, thank you Miss Winters…I mean, Carsten. I’ll get right on this.” Heather sets down the notepad and claps her hands. She carefully grabs the canvas, while giving me the biggest grin that I have ever seen on her. I didn’t even know she was capable of a genuine smile. She leaves my office with a little bounce in her step.

  Completely puzzled by her reaction, I call Janel. We spend most of the morning on the phone. Only about twenty minutes of our conversation is business related. We mainly talk about her. She is dating a new guy who drives a Winnebago. His name is Timothy, Thomas, or something close to one of those. I can’t remember exactly. I like to call him T, so I don’t have to remember. According to her, T was an English Professor at Duke, but now he travels around the states visiting older towns. He is going to write the Great American Novel one day.

  Where Janel is hopeful, I have my doubts. So far, he has managed to get free meals, gas, and groceries out of her. He is taking advantage of her. I tried to warn Janel, but she wouldn’t listen. Now, I know how frustrated Rebecca and Holden must have felt when I continued to date Michael, even though I knew he was bad for me.

  At three o’clock, I call for Richmond. He is Dorsey’s personal driver. The first time I went to visit Rebecca, I called a cab. Dorsey happened to be here that day. He was furious that I would waste my money on a cab. He insisted his driver take me, as well as any other time I felt the need for a ride longer than a few minutes. At first, I felt awkward asking for Richmond to drive me, but now it is just part of my norm. Besides, I enjoy his company. I love hearing about his two granddaughters. He seems like a wonderful person. Grabbing my bags and my coat, I check on Heather before I leave. She is standing in the gallery having two workers rearrange the pictures to her liking. She is blending the room from black and white to bold colors. I love it.

  “Heather, this arrangement is beautiful. I’m off for the day. I won’t be back until Monday, call me if you need me.”

  “You won’t be here for the solitude exhibition?”

  “No. You know I don’t like attending them. I like my privacy. Mr. Dorsey will be here. I’m sure everything will run smoothly without me. Have a good weekend.”

  “Yes, Miss Winters.” My eyebrow raises and she quickly corrects herself. “Sorry. Have a good weekend, Carsten.”

  I give her a soft smile and head outside to where Richmond is waiting for me. “Good afternoon, Richmond.”

  “Carsten, how are we today?” He holds the rear passenger door for me and I slip into my seat. Once my seatbelt is secure, he pulls out into traffic.

  “Richmond, how was the ballet recital?”

  “Beautiful. My littlest granddaughter was a teacup. The oldest got to be a flower. She wasn’t very happy about it, but she looked lovely.”

  “What was the theme?”

  “Disney movies, I believe.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I forgot. I bet they looked amazing.”

  His eyes meet mine, and I quickly look away. “They did. Thank you for asking.”

  Nodding my head, I turn to look out the window. Richmond turns up the radio and soft music swirls around me. The drive isn’t too long, but I am excited to get out of my apartment, even if it is for one night.

  *****

  We pull up in front of Rebecca’s a little before six o’clock. Some people follow other people around, turning off lights consistently. Rebecca is not that person. Every light in her apartment is on, illuminating it in the evening sky. My fingers pull on the handle of my door.

  “Will I be expecting your call tomorrow?”

  Looking up, I give Richmond a warm smile. “Would that be alright with you? If not, I can always call a cab.”

  “Of course, it’s alright. Let me know if you need me. Goodnight, Miss Winters.”

  Grabbing my bags, I wave goodbye to Richmond. Using the key, she had made for me, I push open her apartment door and toss my bags onto the floor by the couch. There is no point in knocking anymore, since Rebecca only yells at me for it. I can hear people talking in the kitchen, but there is a voice that I don’t recognize.

  My feet stop instantly, locking my body into place, as I feel the entire world shift around me. The magnetic poles switch completely, flipping everything upside down before flipping back to their original positions. My eyes focus on a pair of deep blue eyes and blonde hair pushed back over a face that I have never seen before. A neatly trimmed beard adorns his jaw. He smiles, showing off perfectly pearl white teeth. Somewhere, an advertiser for a toothpaste brand is kicking themselves in the ass for not choosing him as their model.

  Someone says my name, but I don’t pay attention to who is saying it. My mind is focused solely on the man standing next to Mark. He is not quite as tall as Mark, but he is close. If I had to guess, I would say that he is five-foot-ten, maybe eleven inches tall. He is wearing a black suit jacket over a white t-shirt, paired with a pair of dark blue jeans. The silver watch on his wrist catches my attention, as he rakes his hands through his thick, blonde hair. A few strands fall by his eyes, and I finally blink.

  Averting my eyes, I look over at Rebecca who is smiling apologetically. She mouths, “let me explain,” before grabbing my hand and pulling me out of the room with her.

  I jerk my hand from her grip, when she stops in front of me. “What the hell is this Becca? Don’t you dare give me some bullshit lie, either.”

  “It’s just…you’re so lonely and hurt. You won’t talk to anyone about it and you’ve put up some kind of wall around you…I thought maybe…you know.”

  “No, I don’t know. The only thing I know is that my fianc�
� died a year ago and I died with him. This is only a shell.” I wave my hands up and down in front of my body. “It’s a temporary state of being, until I can be with him again and for some reason, you thought it would be a great idea to invite a man to dinner.”

  “Carsten, calm down.” She reaches for my arm, but I step back, avoiding her touch completely.

  “No, you don’t get to tell me to calm down, Becca. I assume he’s single and you thought tonight would be a fantastic time to play matchmaker. How warm am I?”

  “Pretty warm. Just hear me out, please?”

  “I’m so incredibly pissed at you right now. I can’t even think of words to explain how angry I am.”

  “Carsten, it’s just dinner. It’s no big deal. I just thought you could use a friend without ties to Holden. Maybe a new friend to spend time with…you’re so alone all the time.”

  The anger I have in me is boiling just below the surface. Clenching my jaw, I shove my finger in her face. “You don’t get to tell me about being alone. For your information, I’m not alone. He goes everywhere I do. You don’t get to take him from me.” I step around her and walk through the apartment door, slamming it behind me. The cold March air hits my face, as I walk down the front steps. It feels good against my bare skin. I am so incredibly angry that I am sure it is radiating off of me at this point.

  What kind of friend springs a blind date on someone? Who does that when they know how much pain their friend is in? I kick the railing on the bottom step. It is not very forgiving and I end up scuffing the tip of my shoe.

  “Damn it. Stupid shoe.”

  “I would have blamed the railing. It’s obvious it was out to get you.” A smooth male voice rolls over my skin. Turning around, I lean against the edge of the railing. Deep blue eyes, ash blonde hair, and scruff. Why does the stranger have to be so good looking?