Hold My Breath

by Ginger Scott

  “She has a hard time keeping up,” Will says through an apologetic smile. “I think she wanted to leave the house in a semi-clean state.”

  I nod and look around me again. She made it halfway.

  “Tanya? We’re here,” he says, his voice loud and echoing around the cramped room. I notice a path is cleared stretching straight from a hallway into what looks like the kitchen, and I remember what Will said about needing room for Dylan’s chair. Dylan. His name is Dylan.

  “Hey, Will. I’m almost done in here. Come on in,” a voice calls from the kitchen area. My heart starts to pound, and my fingers feel numb from the blood flowing so fast and hard through my body. Somehow, my legs continue to work and I follow Will into the kitchen. A thin blonde, wearing a plain white T-shirt with the sleeves bunched up over her shoulders and a pair of gray sweats, rushes from the sink to a cabinet, stacks of plates in her hands for one trip, fists full of forks and spoons on her next. She glances up at both of us while she works, and her face looks nothing like the trampy whore I’ve dreamt up in my hateful fantasies. This woman looks frail, and tired, and…kind.

  “Oh, hey! You must be Maddy,” she says, running her palm along the leg of her sweats and blowing a tuft of hair out of her eyes while she approaches me. My mouth quivers and my ears fall deaf with the rush of blood to my head, but I manage to reach out my hand to shake hers. “Thank you so much for helping us. Will said you and he were good friends, and you knew how much he hated to fly. I’m just…” she pauses and leans her hip out, running her shoulder against her face as her eyes well up. “I’m just so grateful he’s coming with me. I don’t think I can get him there alone.”

  I let her hand slide from mine and look over her shoulder at the piles of things yet to do. Unwashed glasses line the counter. Stacks of files sit in haphazard piles, some with sticky notes jutting from the edges. And underneath it all, layers of dust and stickiness from a kitchen that she probably hasn’t been able to clean since the day she moved in.

  “I’m glad he can help, too,” I answer, swallowing away so many things I thought I knew.

  “I swear I’ll be ready, Will. I just wanted to get a head start on some of this. I was taking advantage of Dylan napping. I had yesterday off too, and our therapist, Wendy…she helped, even though I know she’s not supposed to do housework, but God, I was grateful,” Tanya says, her words vomiting out amid her nerves. Will stands with his hands in his pockets, his posture stiff, and his head sunken in-between his shoulders. The only response he can seem to give her is a fast nod, and I can see it affecting Tanya more and more by the second. She starts to rush around the kitchen, moving things, but never really accomplishing anything. Will steps backward until his legs meet a chair, and he falls back and sits.

  “I’m going to scoop up the sheets and put them in a bag. I have a laundry service that’s going to pick everything up while we’re gone. I just need to have it all ready,” Tanya says, her voice wavering as she glides by Will, his eyes wide and his mouth firmly shut.

  The moment she slips from our view, I step in front of him, my back shielding her from seeing or hearing anything should she come in.

  “What is wrong with you? You’re supposed to be helping her, but you’ve gone completely catatonic,” I say, and my words do nothing more than draw his eyes to mine. They’re still wide, and they’re still scared. I kneel down and touch his knee. The feel of him sends a jolt up my arm, and his eyes fall immediately to my touch, softening as his mouth relaxes, the hard line sloping on the ends toward his chin. His hand lands on top of mine, trapping me.

  “I’m not sure I can do this.” His body shivers and his words come out choppy, almost as if he’s breaking a fever.

  “Will, that woman is going to fall apart without you. You have to get over whatever the hell…” I stop midsentence, words from a minute before finally sinking in: how much he hated to fly.

  “Oh God…” I say, sliding my hand out from under his, my chin coming up just as his is falling. I reach up, not even thinking, and my hands cup his face. He freezes. His eyes close and the weight of his head rests into my right palm. I run my fingers along his jaw on the left side.

  “Is there something you can take?” I ask. His body shakes once, a short breath escaping him in a sad laugh. Right. One year sober.

  “Will, Dylan’s up! Should we get his things out to the car first? I can get him in the small chair,” Tanya calls from the other end of the house. Will’s eyes rise to meet mine, and the sheer helplessness reflected in them seizes my chest, and I gasp once, tears threatening my eyes.

  I breathe in deeply, letting my eyes fall closed for a moment while I search for courage. Not to do something my heart desperately wants to do, but to let go of the hate that’s keeping me from doing what’s right.

  “Sounds good, Tanya. Will’s finishing up the dishes for you, so I’ll come in to help,” I holler back. My response snaps Will out of his haze, and he starts to stand and push away from me.

  “No, no…I’m fine,” he says.

  I ignore him and pull my phone from my pocket, searching for flights quickly.

  “American? Southwest?” I ask.

  His hands cover mine, but I fight him off this time, stepping back and holding one palm up while my thumb slides over the screen.

  “Maddy, this…none of this, is your responsibility,” he says, shaking his head, and I stop with my thumb on the purchase button, looking him right in the eyes.

  “It isn’t yours either,” I argue, my breath catching as it hits me. None of this—me, Evan, Tanya, Dylan, and all the damn ghosts—is Will’s responsibility. He chose to carry it. He inserted himself where a blank space was left, and he’s been holding worlds together for people when he had every right to walk away.

  My thumb falls against my phone, and I hold it up, swallowing.

  “I hope it was Southwest,” I whisper, a little stunned at the realization of what a mixture of spontaneity and panic can make someone do. “I am probably going to need to borrow some money, too. And…shit…clothes.”

  Will moves to me swiftly, his hands reaching up but not sure where to touch. There’s the barrier between us that came the moment Evan’s story unraveled, but I feel like it shifted—just a little.

  “Call them, Maddy. Cancel that. I’ll suck it up. I’ll be fine. It’s just a plane ride,” he says, but that fear is there still. I see it. “Please, Maddy. Don’t take this on.”

  “If you see the big suitcase in the living room, just bring it to the first door on the right!” Tanya yells.

  My eyes are locked on Will’s, a silent battle, each of us trying to save the other. But he doesn’t see what I see—a man whose soul is so tired that it may not have much fight left in it. My mouth opens to speak seconds before I actually do, and I wait in a sort of verbal limbo, convincing myself past those last few uncertainties.

  “Got it!” I respond finally, stepping away from Will slowly, his eyes following my path.

  I can feel Will behind me, but I push forward as if I’ve always been a part of this, as if I was supposed to show up here all along and make this trip with them. My hand grabs the handle of the only suitcase in the room, and I roll it along behind me, stopping at the door on the right. Will pauses a few feet short of the doorway, and I glance to see him standing with both of his arms stretched out, his palms flat on opposite hallway walls and his head low.

  “That’s the one! Thanks, Maddy,” Tanya says, pulling my attention away from Will.

  Inside the small room is a hospital bed with rails and monitoring devices, most of them shut off minus one that beeps periodically. A frail boy with brown hair and crystal-blue eyes struggles on the edge of the bed, his fingers curved awkwardly around one of the bedrails while his other arm hugs tightly around Tanya’s neck. His legs bend in such a way that I know walking is not possible, and as Tanya lifts him against her, struggling by herself to line him up with his chair, I can’t help but flash forward to a time when Dylan is tw
ice this size.

  “There,” Tanya breathes out, stretching her back and tugging out the band from her hair, refastening it to tuck away loose ends that Dylan pulled out when his fingers grabbed at her. “Step one of about sixty-eight-hundred,” she laughs.

  I laugh lightly with her, but only for show. My eyes are captivated by the young ones that struggle to meet mine a few feet away. There is so much that is tragic and difficult, and my heart breaks seeing this glimpse of Dylan’s battle, but it also beats at everything that is familiar. Evan is there. He’s right there, even though he’s not here for any of this. I grab at my chest, and when Tanya’s back is to me, I turn to see Will—still standing with his arms stretched out. His eyes were waiting for me, and the moment our gazes lock, I understand why he didn’t want me to get this far in. It hurts too much—too much Evan.

  “He doesn’t speak, other than a few sounds and almost words he’s been getting out in therapy, so he probably won’t be able to say your name, but he’ll recognize you,” Tanya says, catching my attention back in the room. I step forward, closer to her and her son—Evan’s son. She presses his hand between both of hers and squeezes, and the sensation seems to soothe him, his head shifting from side-to-side while he hums and smiles.

  “Dylan, this is a friend of Uncle Will’s. Her name is Maddy,” she says.

  Dylan’s head bobs twice and a sound escapes him, almost a yell, but the words are incoherent. His eyes cross paths with mine a few times, and it feels like I’m being painted with his happiness, more cooing sounds escaping his chest as he brings his other hand forward to clap with both of his mom’s.

  She nods to me, so I step closer and place mine on top of hers so Dylan can touch me. His hand grazes mine a few times, his fingers almost curling around mine once, unable to hold on for more than a blip of a second. The feel of it forces a smile to my face, and when I look up into Tanya’s eyes, she’s smiling, too.

  “I hope it’s okay, Dylan, but I’m making this trip with you,” I say, glancing from him to Tanya, her eyes growing wide and her smile growing. “I thought you could all use another hand.”

  When her gaze moves beyond me, to the door, I know that Will has moved from his place in the hallway. I glance over my shoulder, and his eyes meet mine in an instant, speaking nothing but silent apologies.

  “I tried to tell her she didn’t have to go,” he says.

  “Yeah, don’t feel obligated, Maddy. We’re grateful for the lift to the airport…”

  “I want to,” I interject, turning back to Tanya just before standing and sliding my hands away from Dylan’s fragile hold. “I’d really like to help, and I can make up my time. My dad will understand.”

  Tanya glances to Will for approval, and I turn to face him as well. His focus shifts between us, and his resolve weakens just enough.

  “He won’t understand at all, but to hell if I can talk you out of something once your mind is made,” he relents.

  “He will, but you’re right about one thing…” I say, moving to the doorway and sliding through, my arm grazing his chest as I pass. “You can’t talk me into or out of anything, Will Hollister.”

  I leave him with Tanya to finish getting Dylan packed and ready for our trip, and I take over finishing the dishes in the kitchen. I cry hard, but I don’t make a single sound, and I don’t turn my face away from the sink until I know every last puffy, red piece of evidence has been erased.

  When we get the car packed, I slide into the passenger seat next to Will and call my father’s number. When he answers, I tell him I’m going with Will to help. I tell him it’s important, and when he asks for the details, I tell him I can’t share any. He’s livid, but he’s also my daddy. I promise him a new record at the meet next week, and that seems to lighten his mood enough that when I hang up I’m left with only one heavy burden on my heart.

  Will’s hand rests on the gearshift between us, and without thinking, I thread my fingers through his. His mouth opens and a small breath escapes. It’s nothing grand, but that small sound cuts deep. He’s breaking himself trying to save so many people, but nobody has ever stepped up to save him.

  I’m not sure I’m strong enough to, either. But I can sure as hell get him through the next few hours, in the air—in his worst nightmare.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Will

  With every step forward, I want to take six back. I want to run. I’ve never wanted to run more.

  My counselor, after the DUI, told me that I was probably experiencing a panic attack when I drove into that tree. I didn’t know what he meant because, well, Jack Daniels does a damn good job of erasing the symptoms of a panic attack. But I’m sober now, and this—this is definitely a panic attack.

  Everywhere I look, the earth is shaking. Just a little. The colors are brighter, and my forehead will not stop sweating. I can barely focus enough to find my way to the group of seats just outside our gate. Maddy took the lead, checking us all in, loading the luggage, and getting the boarding passes. As difficult as it is to travel with Dylan, his medical condition makes some things easier. We went through a special security area, which meant that there was more time to scrutinize things—scrutinize me. For a while, I thought they were going to pull me into a room and test my urine because I look like I’m in withdrawals.

  “When you have a panic attack, you will feel like you are dying.” That one line from some state-mandated substance-abuse counselor, whose name and face I hardly remember, is ingrained in my mind. He could not have been more accurate.

  “Can I get you some water? Or maybe just an aspirin, or something to chew on?” Maddy has been doting on me the entire way to the airport, through security, and to these chairs that I just want to curl up in. I hate that I have become the burden for this trip. We’re all supposed to be here for Dylan, but he’s been a champ. I have been a massive pain in the ass.

  “I don’t know, maybe…I guess. No water. I don’t want to have to get up as soon as I’m buckled in. But maybe gum? Or candy?” I feel like I want to throw up, but I have to give Maddy something to do. She looks defeated, and I don’t like her looking at me like I’m a lost cause.

  “Got it. I’ll get a little of everything. I’ve already drained my savings, so this goes on credit,” she says through a laugh. “You want me to call Duncan, too?”

  “No, I can handle that,” I say, sliding my phone into my palm.

  I watch her walk away a few steps and I let myself succumb to the shiver that’s been building in my spine. Before she gets very far, though, Maddy spins around and rushes back to me, slipping into the seat next to me and throwing her arms around me. Her head falls onto my shoulder as she squeezes me tightly, and I hold my breath the entire time.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she says into the small space where her mouth rests against my neck. I want to believe her. I choose to believe her.

  I nod a few times and force my mouth into a smile. It’s thin and it doesn’t hold up for long, but I think maybe it’s more than I could have given her five minutes ago, so that’s progress.

  With Maddy in the store and Tanya and Dylan resting at the seating area right next to our gate, I pull my phone into my palm and call my uncle. After a few rings, he answers, his voice calm and the reassurances already scripted and spilling from his mouth.

  “Will, I’m so glad you called before takeoff. How’s the airport? Busy? I heard it was a busy travel day,” he starts immediately.

  It’s a Thursday—an uneventful, midsummer weekday—our flight isn’t even full. My uncle is full of shit, but I love him for his effort.

  “It’s fine, listen…something’s come up,” I say.

  “Will, you can do this. It’s just like our flight from Michigan,” he interrupts.

  “No, that’s not it. I’m getting on the plane. It’s a different issue,” I say, pulling my hand up to pinch the bridge of my nose. “Maddy insisted on coming.”

  I can practically hear my uncle’s smile.

 
“She shouldn’t have, so stop celebrating,” I say.

  “I’m not celebrating,” he chuckles.

  “Sure you aren’t,” I say.

  “Okay, maybe a little. And why shouldn’t she have? She’s a grown woman, and I’m sure Tanya could use the extra help,” he says. “You wouldn’t let me come, so think of it as if she’s taking my place.”

  “Right…because you and Maddy are so similar,” I laugh out.

  “She got you to the gate, didn’t she?” he says. I pull my mouth up on one side, rubbing my palm along my cheek as I nod.

  “Yeah,” I breathe.

  He’s right. My uncle and Maddy are the only two people who have been able to get me this far when it comes to airports. Granted, my flight to Indiana with my uncle also included a near arrest, when I threatened to walk off the plane as we were taxiing, and a close-up view of a Taser from a TSA agent. My uncle assured them I would be fine, and then he proceeded to beg me to “keep my shit together” for the entire hour flight. We almost came to blows a dozen times. I hope Maddy’s really up for this.

  “So where’s the car?” my uncle asks.

  “It’s in hourly parking, on the north end. I’m sorry, I know you hate driving on the highways,” I say.

  “Bahhhh, no problem. I have the extra key, and I’ll Uber there and take surface streets back,” he says.

  That trip will take him twice as long.

  “I’m really sorry,” I say, meaning it. I feel like I need to say it to everyone…for lots of things.

  “Don’t be. Just use this time wisely. Maybe man up, too, and tell that girl all of those things you’ve been holding on to for way too long,” he says.

  I breathe in through my nose and slightly regret the confessions I’ve made to this old man. He’s the only rock I have, though. And I’ve needed a good rock.