Breathe: A Novel

Candles . . . Check.

Music . . . Check.

Corset, thigh-highs, whip, hat, and cowgirl boots . . .

Really?

Had it already come to this?

Apparently so. Embarrassing as it was, I felt desperate to get Tripp’s attention. To feel close to him. To recreate the electricity and attraction that had made us sprint to the altar in the first place. It wasn’t long ago that he would dash home from the office for a quick “lunch” with me. Surprise weekend getaways were standard then, always at some pet-friendly hotel overlooking the Pacific. Tripp never forgot to include my dog, Billy, in the beginning. And the horses—he loved to watch me ride. Some nights, we’d sneak into his family’s stables where their racehorses were groomed for glory. He didn’t even care if his mother got wind of it.

But lately things had started to change. One evening, I’d slipped my arms around him and whispered, “Let’s go for a ride in the moonlight tonight.” He was standing with his back to me, staring out the French doors into darkness.

“Sorry, what?” He stepped away from me, pulling the curtains closed.

“A ride,” I said. “You and me.”

He turned and walked past me, one half of his button-down un-tucked, his tie hanging loose and off-center.

“Tripp, honey? Hello?” He was back to staring out the window, this time over the kitchen sink. “Where are you right now? Come on, ride with me. I’ll let you be the cowboy,” I teased. But he didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile.

“Babe, it’s like we’re on different planets, and I’m two feet away from you.” I walked over and peered with him into the night. “Someone getting naked out there?” Nothing.

“I can’t explain it, Alex. I feel like there’s more than this.” He turned and gestured vaguely to the room.

I looked around. We were standing in the kitchen of our Craftsman “cottage” which, by any standards outside Marin County, California, would be considered a palatial shrine to Frank Lloyd Wright.

“More than . . . our house?” He couldn’t be having an existential crisis, could he? We were
newlyweds
.

“No, I mean
all
this.” He waved his arm in a bigger arc.

“Oh. Well, yeah. Of course,” I said and hopped up on the counter, hoping to distract him. “The world is a mysterious place. And I am game for exploring all of it with you.” I smiled and reached for him with my feet, trying to pull him toward me. He took a step back and shook his head again.

“I’m going through something, Al. I need space.”

“Maybe it’s all that yoga you’ve been doing. Too much standing on your head. Let’s take a vacation. A real vacation. No conference calls, no early classes at the Club. Let me take care of you. Maybe Jamaica? We’ll ride horses through the surf . . . ”

“Alex.”

“Okay,” I said with a shrug, attempting to look unfazed. “Just trying to help.” Resting my heels on the drawer pulls, I leaned forward onto my elbows as if sitting on a fence. “So,” I said casually.

“So,” Tripp replied, glazing over.

My stomach tightened. What was going on here? Tripp was usually so direct and engaging.

“Is there anything I can—” I started.

“No, Alex. I just wanted you to know that I’m operating from a deeper place now.” He nodded solemnly. I looked at him, my gorgeous, take-charge, marry-me, won’t-take-no-for-an-answer husband.

“So is Deepak Chopra a new client or something?” I tried one last time for a laugh, a kiss, a tousle, anything, but he just looked at me blankly. “Babe?”

“Okay.” He clasped his hands together. “I’ve got to go pack.”

He left the next morning for what I thought was a business trip in Atlanta. Initially, Tripp didn’t correct me, but eventually he confessed that it was, in fact, a retreat. A spiritual retreat: yoga, meditation, healing . . . And as unenlightened as it sounded, I felt like he was cheating on me. With himself.

“I want to be with you. Could I come?” I said from our massive bed as I watched him get dressed. Tripp’s interest in yoga had been a shock to me, despite the fact that it had long since become the world’s trendiest fitness obsession, one I myself had resisted. Regardless of the latest celebrity testimonial, to me, yoga would always be my mother’s thing, New Age-y and fringe-y. But in those moments before he left, it was beginning to feel like a deal breaker. “Really.” I’d almost convinced myself. “I want to come.”

Tripp remained focused on his packing.

“Honestly, I’m not sure you’re ready for this kind of work, Alex. Just enjoy the solitude. I think you could benefit from some time alone with your thoughts.” He came over to kiss me goodbye, and I sat up, letting the zillion-thread count sheet fall away from me. But he was gone too quick to notice.

***

Billy and I met Tripp at Mount Bachelor, Central Oregon’s favorite ski destination, where I was working a weekend shift as the on-mountain concierge. Mostly, I directed harried parents to the nearest restroom. It was something of a rebound job, having recently returned from what I assumed was a stereotypical attempt at living in New York. My morale was fragile at best and my bank account was drained. That afternoon, Billy was curled at my feet as Tripp approached the desk with his client.

“Hi.”

He rested his elbow casually on the mahogany counter between us. His eyes sparkled. And when he smiled, I melted. I honestly did.

“Hi.” I smiled back, feeling like I had gained a thousand feet of altitude.

“Can you recommend a restaurant for us this evening?” He kept his eyes on mine.

“And by us, you mean?” I nodded toward a man I assumed was his friend, who was leafing through a ‘High Desert Museum’ pamphlet, decked head to toe in fresh-from-the-box Patagonia. The mountain’s ragtag ski lodge crew always mocked out-of-town weekend warriors, but I found them fascinating. They reminded me that the world was a big place and gave me hope that, although New York had not worked out, I too, might someday, somehow, avoid a lifetime of county fairs in good ol’ Sisters, Oregon.

“Yep, that would be my date,” he replied, his blinding smile drawing me in. I tore my eyes away to look over at his friend.

“Well, he sure looks ready for some action out there,” I said in a low voice.

Tripp twisted around to look at him over his shoulder.

“She likes your goggles, man.” He turned back to me. “So. Dinner,” he said with a little smile. His eyes were as blue as the sky behind him.

Go for it, Alex. Just do it.

I leaned forward.

“Yes?” he asked.

“It’s about your date. My guess is that two hours in this powder, and he’ll be glued to the wet bar in his room tonight. Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider? Mount Bachelor’s got some pretty cute lifties, and I think Skye’s on this afternoon.” I pretended to scan a list of lift operators on duty.

Tripp leaned toward me, his eyes glittering with amusement. “That ‘date’ is worth over half a billion dollars. Makes the glare of his one-piece ski suit a little more endearing.” We considered the spectacle for a moment. The
Ski Magazine
cover boy looked up from his map of downtown Bend.

“Okay, okay. I can hear you over there. Could you hurry it up, Edwards? I’m suffocating in this damn suit. Tell you what, man, next time I pick the meeting place. Cabo.” He ripped off his goggles and looked at them, then held them up for me to see. “These are pretty awesome though, right?” They both laughed. I liked these guys. Unlike most of the resort’s seasonal millionaires, they seemed to have a sense of humor about themselves.

“Alright,” I said, looking back at Tripp. “Let’s find you boys a restaurant before your friend passes out.” I considered my choice of words. These ‘boys’ had at least ten years on me. I looked down at my list of endorsed restaurants and then set it aside. “My favorite place in town is Sushi Max, but if you don’t like sushi—”

Tripp interrupted me. “Sushi’s perfect.”

I waited for him to check with his friend. He didn’t. Instead he continued to stare at me, making my heart race. I began to move things around on the desk. What was going on? Guys didn’t intimidate me. Jeff Otto, Garth Merck, Chris Cotton—my big brother Jackson’s high school posse—all my life they were relentless, but not once was I ever thrown by their teasing, harassing, or flirting. And those
guys were rodeo stars. If they didn’t knock me off center, no one could. Right? I looked up again at Tripp’s blue eyes and shock of blond hair, and felt weak. I cleared my throat.

“Okay, here’s a map.” All business, I circled the restaurant and pointed out the route. My hand grazed his, and it felt like a current was coursing between us. I’d never experienced anything like it.

“You like sushi, Alex?” Tripp asked, glancing down at my nametag.

I looked down to catch my breath, then recapped my highlighter pen and looked into his eyes. “Of course. I’m from the High Desert. Don’t you know we’re renowned for our land fish?” Bad joke.

He laughed.

His friend called over again. “Tripp. Seriously. I am dying over here.” He now had plopped, spread-legged, onto one of the leather armchairs. Tripp appeared not to hear him, and kept his eyes on mine. He put his hand over the map.

“Why don’t you join me, then.” It wasn’t a question.

Standing there, his body so close to mine, I felt like I might just fall into a heap on the floor. Everything about him was irresistible: the light in his eyes, the sound of his voice, the way he smelled. It was like the first time I saw a pack of wild mustangs. The world felt infinite.

“What about your friend?” I asked, ignoring the pulse in my ears.

“He’s got plans. Right, Jim?”

Jim gave him a half-wave. “I don’t care what you do, Edwards. Just get me to The Lodge for some Scotch and a soak.”

Tripp turned to me. “Yeah, he’s got plans.”

I looked at him: tall, powerful, perfectly groomed, but still slightly rugged. A thoroughbred. He carried himself like he owned the place, but it didn’t seem like arrogance, just conviction. And I loved him for it right away.

“So we’re clear,” I said. “I’m not responsible for your sugar daddy over there pulling the plug on his account with you.”

“Ah, Jim’s been a client forever. He’s not going anywhere. I’m a pretty likeable guy.” That smile again. I couldn’t breathe.

“Well,” I said, feigning reluctance and bending down to pet Billy, who grounded me in any situation. “I guess I could join you then.”

“Is that your dog?” he asked.

“Sure is.” I stroked Billy’s head, and he leaned against my knee.

“What happened to him?”

For a second, I didn’t know what he was talking about. I was so accustomed to Billy’s one ear. “Oh. His ear? I think it was a gang initiation. Isn’t that awful? I found him at a shelter in New York.”

“Does he have Pitt Bull in him?” Tripp took a step back.

I burst out laughing. “No, he’s a Jack Russell-Beagle mix. Does he look especially ferocious? I hope you’re not afraid of dogs,” I teased, “because Billy and I are a package deal.”

Tripp bent down and cautiously pet his good ear. “Does Billy like sushi, too?”

“Yep. Loves it,” I answered. It was sweet to see this self-assured man be tentative around a creature as harmless as Billy.

“Okay, then. A table for three. I’ll book it.” He pulled out his phone. “And tell me where you live, so I can have my driver pick you up.”

“Driver? Are you serious?”

He leaned in. “It’s all show. For the clients.”

“Oh, right.” I smirked. “I can see that you don’t enjoy it at all.”

“Think you can handle a driver for one night?”

“I suppose,” I answered, flirtatiously drawing out the syllables. For a second there, I did wonder about giving a stranger my address. But who was I kidding? I was back in Central Oregon, once again desperate for some excitement. “It’s 35 Old Post Road in Sisters. And tell your driver that the chickens are even fiercer than Billy, so he may want to wait in the car.”

Looking down, Tripp smiled as he typed and said, “You’re a funny girl.” Then he slipped his phone back into his pocket, patted the counter twice, grinned at me one last time, and said, “See you tonight.”

I watched him walk away and felt like I was floating.

What just happened?

All afternoon, I couldn’t stop smiling, thinking about him, and replaying our conversation. As my shift was about to end, I was lost in full-blown fantasy about our imminent date when I began to consider the cold, harsh, un-sexy reality of my life: twenty-five years old and broke, living at home in a small mountain town, three hours from the nearest city, which was
Portland
, of all places. Self-doubt began to creep in; there was no disguising my lack of direction from Tripp, or my parents. In fact, just the night before, they were dropping hints at the dinner table.

“So Alex,” Dad had said over the fondue pot. “This could be the perfect time for you to look into vet school. Fulfill that childhood dream of yours.”

“Mm-hmm.” I’d twirled my fork and fought the urge to remind us all that I was no longer a child.

“You do have a rare gift with animals, honey,” Mom had agreed. “You could even take classes right here at COCC.” She’d looked over and smiled expectantly. “Just something to think about.”

“Hmm,” I’d said again, glad to have a mouthful that made answering impossible.

They were clearly thrilled to have me home and seemed to think I should stay in Sisters forever. But I held out hope that a fulfilling life was waiting for me somewhere else, somewhere far, far away.

An employee shuttle bus dropped me off on the main road. Walking up our long dirt driveway, I could hear Mom mending tack in the barn. Normally, I would visit the stable after a long day at work, but instead I scooped Billy up and tiptoed through the side gate, across the back deck, and in through the sliding glass door. Once in my room, I threw open the closet and proceeded to try on its entire contents at least three times. I left a note on the kitchen table, ducked out the front door, and went back down by the road to wait for Tripp’s town car. When I arrived at Sushi Max, he was standing outside. He opened the door and escorted me out of the car like I was royalty.