Just Breathe

by Janette Paul

  The concern in his voice made the emotional concoction inside her well up and squeeze out a waterfall of tears. ‘I, um, it’s my car and, um, God, I’m sorry about this.’

  ‘No, no, don’t be sorry,’ he soothed. ‘Tell me what’s going on.’

  He was being so understanding and nice but she remembered his flinty eyes the last time she was late. ‘It’s pouring with rain and my car broke down and I forgot to ring to tell you I can’t make it today because I have to go to a funeral and now I’m never going to get there because you can never get a cab when it’s pouring and I’m really sorry to put you out again and –’

  ‘Dee, it’s okay. Where are you?’

  ‘In my car.’

  ‘I meant where in your car?’

  ‘Oh.’ She swivelled around in her seat, gave him the name of the streets at the intersection. ‘But it doesn’t matter because there won’t be any cabs for hours.’

  ‘I’ll send my driver. It’ll take him about fifteen minutes. Just hang in there, okay?’

  She hung up, wiped her eyes. His driver?

  As she shook her hair out, squeezed the hem of her three-quarter trousers and dried her feet with a rag, she thought about Ethan Roxburgh. He didn’t have to send his driver – but maybe that was the sort of thing you did when you had a driver. Don’t want to have them just sitting around costing you money.

  The sound of his voice in her ear replayed in her mind and a small smile tugged at her lips. He could have told her to pull herself together, if she had a decent car and a proper job these sorts of things wouldn’t happen. But he hadn’t. He’d just shot a whole heap of those feel-good herbs right through cyberspace to her, made her feel not nearly as ridiculous for blubbering in his ear as she did now he’d hung up.

  He really was lovely. The collar and tie were an issue though. It was like a uniform. He may as well be wearing a jumpsuit with ‘Corporate Guy’ emblazoned across the back. Not that she liked to generalise but there was no point exploring an avenue when it was more than likely a dead end. Much safer to look in the obvious places. She’d found that out the hard way.

  Dee rubbed a hole in the fog on the windscreen and tried not to think about dead ends. She turned the radio up, couldn’t hear it over the rain and turned it off again. Her heart was still pounding, blood racing. She closed her eyes, attempted to think happy thoughts. All she got was the last dead end she’d been in. Not a happy thought at all but now it was there it was hard to eject.

  Drew had been fun. He worked in a big law firm, was climbing the corporate ladder, looked great in a collar and tie. She had a thing for a man in a suit back then. Anthony looked great in one. That’s what he was wearing the day of the accident. The day he left her, too. She met Drew a year or so after she got back from India. She was teaching yoga by then, getting her life back together. But her new lifestyle didn’t mesh with his professional status.

  ‘Why don’t you get a real job?’ he’d say.

  ‘Do you have to wear those hippie clothes to the cocktail party?’

  ‘Why don’t you put your bloody yoga mat away and concentrate on me for a while?’

  Dee gripped the steering wheel as she remembered his words on that last night, how her fury had sent spasms of pain down her leg. He was embarrassed to go out with her, he told her. She was bad for his image. A joke amongst his friends. The hippie girl. The Kama Sutra personified. How could he get ahead with an incense-burning, loony-tunes-chanting, yoga freak hanging off him?

  Tears burned her eyes. This was a bad day to be embracing crappy memories. Her emotions were already shot to hell.

  But maybe it was time she did. Drew wasn’t the only corporate guy she’d dated but he was definitely the last. After that night, she vowed never again. And she applied a more concrete version of the yoga theory of living in the moment – creating the official two-week boundary fence around her life. No looking further than two weeks into the future. And no corporate guys.

  So, Dee, you do not want to be attracted to Ethan Roxburgh. He had a penchant for Roxburgh Girls, he was sitting on top of a very large corporate ladder and the sole reason she was spending time with him was to get her shit together. Yes, he had lovely eyes but he was just another run-of-the-mill, dead-end corporate guy.

  A large, sleek silver sedan pulled up beside her old bomb and pipped its horn, the window rolling down by remote. She rubbed another hole and peered through the rain … at Ethan Roxburgh.

  Okay, maybe not so run-of-the-mill.

  Dee pulled his passenger door shut. ‘You didn’t have to come and get me.’ A confusing brew of emotions got all tangled up in her chest – pleasure at seeing him, guilt that he was out in the storm, wariness of his collar and tie, vulnerability at her current lack of tear-duct control. Anxiety over all of the above.

  ‘My driver was out on another errand so it was easier to come get you myself,’ Ethan said, pulling into the traffic.

  ‘I’m glad you had your shining armour with you again today. I hope it doesn’t rust in the rain.’ She smiled, trying to shove the anxiety into its cage.

  ‘Shouldn’t be a problem. I had it rust-proofed last week. Where is the funeral?’

  The only good thing about the day’s drama was that it had stopped her thinking about Emily for a while. But the mention of the service made the swell of emotion push up from inside her again, wanting to expel itself like a tidal wave. She gave him the address and pressed her lips together, hoping to regain some control.

  Ethan briefly glanced her way before looking over his shoulder to change lanes. ‘Is it for your student who was sick?’

  She nodded, not wanting to speak in case everything swelled right out her mouth.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Bloody hell. Why did he have to be so nice? There was no keeping it in now. She put her hands over her face and let the tears spill.

  He reached across the car and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. The sensation was warm and gentle and did nothing to quell the crying. ‘Are you all right?’

  She dug around in her bag for tissues and blew her nose. ‘Yeah. Yes, no, not really. I’m a bit of a mess actually. I hate funerals and now I’m crying before I even get there.’

  ‘No one likes funerals so feel free to knock yourself out with the crying.’

  She laughed a little. ‘Thanks.’

  He left her to watch the traffic through the passenger window, which she did with mostly dry eyes until the moment she saw the church. The hearse was there, the casket was being lifted out, Mike and the girls stood watching from the door – and she was back at another funeral, sitting in the front pew with her mother and Amanda, listening as the priest talked about her father while her heart felt like it was being ripped open.

  ‘Oh, no,’ Dee said, tears welling again, knowing the emotional tide wouldn’t subside until it had exhausted itself. ‘You can let me out here.’ He was probably desperate to escape the crazy crying woman.

  He drove on past the church. ‘No, I’ll find a parking spot.’ A block away, he reversed into a space under a huge tree. The noise of the rain was exchanged for dollops of water popping loudly on the roof. ‘Would you like some company?’

  Yes, please – and a stiff drink, some dry clothes, a sunny spot by the beach. ‘No, I’ll be fine. You’ve done enough already.’

  ‘I’ve got to wait anyway.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘How else are you going to get back to your car? Like you said, it’ll take hours to get a cab and you don’t want to hang around a church after a funeral. There might be another one scheduled and you’d have to cry all over again.’

  Dee was torn between sending him away and blubbering in gratitude.

  He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Stay here while I get the umbrella.’

  She watched him run around the car in the rain. He was so nice, she could just cry.

  The service was unbearably sad. A young woman taken too early. Two children without a mother. A hus
band left to bring up his family alone. Dee didn’t bother to quell the tears that streamed down her face.

  Ethan stood beside her, comfortingly solid, just what a girl needed when she was falling apart. She wondered if he was remembering his father’s funeral. A couple of times she raised her gaze to find him watching her – not sympathetically, not judgementally. As though he’d never seen anyone cry before. When she ran out of tissues, he passed her a handkerchief.

  After the service, he stayed with her while she found Mike and hugged him, sharing more tears with him.

  Mike kept hold of Dee’s hand as he stepped out of her embrace. ‘Emily wanted to make sure I told you how much your visits to the hospital helped. I want to thank you for that.’

  ‘It was my honour. I learned a lot from Emily. I’ll miss her.’ She turned to introduce Ethan, found his eyes assessing her with what looked like, well, fascination. ‘Mike, this is Ethan. You can thank him for getting me here.’

  Ethan ignored the sudden recognition on Mike’s face. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss.’

  Dee felt a tug on her shirt and found Mike’s youngest daughter, Kate. Peering into the eight-year-old eyes, she saw her niece Amelia and swept her into her arms. ‘Hey, Kate. I’m so sorry about your mum. I really liked her.’

  ‘I did too,’ Kate answered.

  Kate’s sister, Lauren, was there when Dee stood up. She was taller than Dee now, at that crossroads between child and woman. Not much older than Dee when her father died. She remembered the ache she’d felt under her ribs back then and held her close for a long moment. ‘You look beautiful today. Your mother would be proud of you.’

  Lauren smiled, pleased. ‘Can I still come to your yoga classes?’

  ‘Of course. I’d love that. How about I send you a timetable?’

  ‘That’d be awesome.’

  Dee and Ethan left them then, heading back to the car under his umbrella. The downpour was reduced to a sprinkling shower now – even the heavens ran dry eventually. She waited in the car as he walked to the driver’s door, relieved the emotional tide had finally receded, a little surprised at the way her anxiety had slithered quietly back to its box some time during the service.

  She gave him a watery smile as he clipped on his belt. ‘I think I’m finished now.’

  ‘You look like you could do with a drink. How about I shout you a double Scotch with a sedative chaser?’

  When Dee told him she had to work later, his Scotch and sedative offer was replaced with lunch and wine. He called his secretary from the car, told her he’d be out for a while then drove to a restaurant by the beach.

  The rain had stopped and the sun was making a valiant effort to tear a hole in the overcast sky. While Ethan hunted down wine, Dee found a table outside and collapsed on a chair. She was shattered. Her face was puffy and stiff from wiping tears across her cheeks, and her water-logged hair felt like a damp rope down her back. She was tempted to put her head on the table and doze off for a bit but it wasn’t really appropriate when a knight in shining armour was giving her succour.

  Ethan placed a glass of white in front of her, took the seat opposite and watched her a while before speaking. ‘Do you get personally involved with all your clients?’

  Dee forced herself to think. ‘Not all of them. It depends on the student.’ She took a sip of the cold alcohol and felt it warm her inside. ‘There’s a lot of trust involved in a private lesson. The student needs to know they’re not going to get hurt. Some need more involvement than others to be comfortable.’ She saw a frown slide across Ethan’s brow, guessed at his thoughts. ‘I suppose you’ll tell me it’s not good for business to get so involved.’

  ‘That’s usually my advice but I don’t think it applies here. I imagine a percentage of your students stay with you because you do get so involved. There’s a marketing value in that.’

  ‘Should it always be about marketing? Can’t you just do what’s right for a person without having an ulterior motive?’

  His lips pursed briefly and she braced herself for a lesson on best business practice but he surprised her. ‘One of my long-term clients died unexpectedly last year and I met his wife for the first time at the funeral. I shook her hand and wished her all the best. After today, that seems pretty uninspiring.’

  She cocked her head. It wasn’t a response to be proud of – and, after his knightly efforts today, she figured there was more to him than that. Maybe he hadn’t found it yet. ‘The problem with crying like crazy is that it makes it hard to say everything you want to. I’m hopeless once I get started.’

  A waiter appeared with bowls of pasta. When he’d done the cracked pepper thing and left, Ethan smiled a little. ‘Do you cry often? It’s not a problem but I might need to make a note to bring a box of tissues to our next meeting. I’m running out of handkerchiefs.’

  She must seem like an emotional wreck. ‘I’m generally a three-tissue crier but today’s supply wasn’t enough for a funeral and running out of coffee, the car breaking down and my mother trying to put me in a home.’

  ‘In a home? Because you cry a lot?’

  ‘Not that kind of home. She inherited some money and wants to give some to my sister Amanda and me, which is very nice of her. But she’s decided I’m hopeless at running my own life, so she won’t let me have it unless I use it as a down payment on the apartment of her choice. Meanwhile, responsible Amanda gets a nice cheque.’

  He winced with empathy. ‘Family and money. It’s a difficult business. What would you do with the money if she gave it to you?’

  ‘I haven’t thought too much about it. Years ago, I got a compensation payout from the car accident and used it to travel overseas, much to my mother’s disapproval. She’s making sure she gets her way this time.’

  He pushed his fork through a pillow of tortellini, chewed thoughtfully. ‘Okay, forget the inheritance for a minute. What would you do with a bundle of money?’

  Dee shrugged. ‘I don’t really think about that kind of stuff.’ Too much like planning a future. ‘Buy a better car, maybe.’

  ‘What about a big bundle of money? Say a handy couple of million?’

  She started to shake her head but he cut in.

  ‘Hypothetically. What’s the first thing you’d think about buying?’

  ‘You mean imaginary money in an imaginary world?’

  ‘Yeah, why not?’

  Why not? She could play that game. It didn’t have anything to do with a real, live future. ‘Let’s see. A car, obviously. Nothing big and flashy, just something nice and reliable.’

  Ethan raised his eyebrows. ‘And …’

  More? ‘Maybe some space of my own – so long as it didn’t come with repayments and pressure from Mum.’ She grinned and thought for a second. ‘Something sunny and warm and roomy and quiet. Somewhere I could walk to the beach and buy great coffee on the way back. Like here.’ She swept an arm wide, taking in the expanse of beach in front of them, the apartments stacked up along the road. ‘Maybe a nice little flat around here.’

  ‘It’s hypothetical. What if you could afford something more than that?’

  ‘Could I afford a house near the beach?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Okay, then a house might be nice. With a garden. And a big yoga room. With a view.’

  ‘So you’d keep teaching if you didn’t have to work?’

  ‘I don’t have to work?’

  ‘What if you didn’t have to?’

  ‘Right, well, I’d want to be useful, keep the flow of yoga knowledge going.’ Dee let herself picture her make-believe life. ‘If I had a studio downstairs, my private students could come to me and I wouldn’t have to put the children in day care.’

  ‘Children?’

  ‘Sure. It’s an imaginary world. I can have as big a dream as the next person in Make-Believe City.’

  ‘And is there an imaginary partner?’

  ‘Of course. I’d want my kids to have both parents for as long as they c
ould.’

  Ethan raised an eyebrow. ‘And this imaginary partner, he’d be tall, dark and handsome, I suppose.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. The outside bit doesn’t really worry me. But on the inside he’d be beautiful and strong and open to life.’ It’s an imaginary world, Dee, let yourself go. ‘And he wouldn’t be afraid of pain and fear and guilt and emotional scars. And he’d be fun, too, and joyful, and he’d love me for being me.’ She sucked in a breath, surprised at what had come out.

  Ethan sipped his wine, eyes curious, wistful even, above the rim of his glass. ‘You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?’

  ‘No, never actually, but it’s not hard when it’s all pretend and you don’t have to get hung up about wanting it all to happen.’

  ‘It could happen if you set your mind to it.’

  She shook her head firmly. ‘Nu-uh. You’re just setting yourself up to be hurt if you trust in big happy plans. It’s a lot easier to let life happen and just be surprised.’ Ethan seemed about to say more but she jumped in, not willing to dig around in that thought any longer. ‘What about you? What’s in your imaginary world?’

  ‘A lot of people would say I’ve already got the dream life.’

  Dee watched him a moment, taking in the stress lines around his mouth, the stiffness in his shoulder, the hint of longing in his dark eyes. ‘I think someone who dates a different woman every month has a dream he’s looking to fill. So who’s the dream woman in your Make-Believe City?’

  His eyebrows popped up, surprised and a tad annoyed at the same time. ‘You’re assuming there is one particular woman. I may have imagined spending my life on an endless conveyor belt of beautiful women.’

  Dee remembered the photo from the dinner party, the way his smile didn’t reach his eyes – and she thought about the kind of man who rescues a woman he barely knows from a thunderstorm then keeps her company during a funeral. It was beyond chivalrous. It was more like a sneak-peak at something tender and compassionate hidden beneath a professional façade. ‘Just as well it’s Make-Believe City then because that would be a waste of some interesting emotional talent.’