Breathe for Me (18 page)

Dominic patiently guides me, encourages me as I take the path to his grandfather's nursing home. “You're doing great,” he says, warmth pouring into his voice and bathing over me.

I bask in the glow of his steady reassurance and manage to get us there without any major incidents. I do run over the curb in the parking lot, but we park as far away from the building as possible so he can help me practice that skill without any cars around.

After I navigate the car into a spot, I sit for a moment, revel in the feeling of control. Driving—something so simple makes me feel so empowered. I look over at Dominic, tears burning the backs of my eyes. “Thank you,” I manage to choke out. I'm not sure he knows what a gift he's given me. Has continued to give me ever since I met him, actually. The book, the massage, driving lessons, his time.

He smiles. “Glad to help.” Then his eyes get hooded, heavy, and the smile slides off his face as his expression grows serious. More intense. He stares into my eyes. “I want to kiss you.”

My skin vibrates at his words. I bite my lower lip. “I want to kiss you, too. I wish I could.” God, I wish I could.

He reaches into the back of the car and pulls out a long stretch of silky dark purple material. It's a scarf. A bright flush bursts onto his cheeks. “I…I bought this. I was thinking…well…that we could use it to…”

He's nervous. The realization that Dominic wants to kiss me, to use this fabric to aid that endeavor, makes me smile and gives me a strange sort of courage. I take it from his hands, lean over and drape it across his face. “Close your eyes,” I say.

Then, with my own eyes wide open, I lean toward his mouth and brush my lips against his. The scarf is soft against my bare skin, sensual, and the heat pouring from his opening mouth explodes a longing inside me. I press closer, opening my mouth too, our lips moving with just the thinnest of barriers.

He reaches a hand up and caresses the back of my head. My lower belly throbs in response to his touch. I nudge myself further out of the driver's seat and arch toward him. The heat between us, the emotion ricochets through my limbs, my core.

After a moment I reluctantly pull away.
Control
. I can't lose focus right now, as badly as I want to.

His eyes flutter open, and the pupils are so big and black they leave only a thin crescent of blue iris.

We stare in silence, eyes locked.

My heart races. I suck in a slow, shaky breath. “Wow.”

Dominic's responding smile is crooked, slightly cocky. “I knew it would work. Glad I went with silk.”

An indescribable emotion wells up in me at his words, at the realization that he's been thinking about this. He wants to kiss me, to be with me.

We can make this work.

And I realize what I'm experiencing right now. Real hope. Belief—in me, in him, in us. We're going to do this.

I reach out, stroke the top of his hands, squeeze his long, lean fingers. “I love you,” I whisper. How could I not feel that way? And how could I not express those feelings after sharing such a powerful moment with him?

My first real kiss. My first love. My first…everything.

“I love you, too,” Dominic whispers back, and I can see it plain as day written across his face. All his emotions are there. Have been there the whole time for me to see, if only I had been brave enough to open my eyes.

I can't stop smiling. But I make myself focus on why we're here—Amos. “Ready to go inside?”

He nods. “Lead the way.”

Amos's room is quiet and empty, save Amos himself. Dominic's family must be out for a while. I'm a little disappointed. I was hoping to meet them, but it'll have to happen later, at a better time. Amos is sound asleep on his bed, looking even more fragile than before. His numbers are much lower, too.

My stomach twists—he's gotten worse. A lot worse. Something happened to him since the last time I was here, something that ate away at a big chunk of his time left.

“I slipped out while he was napping to get you,” Dominic whispers. “He asked several times to see you again.”

“Really?” I shove aside my concerns about Amos and sit down in the chair farthest from his bed, so as not to wake him. “Why?”

“Because he really likes you.” Dominic moves to the seat beside me, then casts a sideways glance in my direction. I see him swallow hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. “I have a confession to make. I told him. About…you. And your curse.”

I stare at him, silent. Horrified.

“I'm sorry. I didn't know who else to talk to. He won't tell a soul.” He reaches over and grabs my hand, squeezes it. “I trust him completely. You can, too.”

I look at Amos, lying still in bed. “I don't want him to think I'm a freak,” I whisper, my throat suddenly choked up with a multitude of emotions. I'm a little angry, a little afraid. “I wish you'd told me first that you wanted to talk to him.” The fewer people who know about my curse, the better.

“I know. It was wrong. But he could tell something was upsetting me and asked. It just…spilled out. I meant to tell you before, but I felt guilty. And I was afraid you'd be mad.” He looks away and stares at the beeping equipment beside Amos.

The anger fades. Wouldn't I have done the same in his case? Unloaded my worries on someone I loved and trusted? In fact, isn't that exactly what I did to Dominic? And I can tell he's upset about hurting me.

I reach over and stroke his upper arm. “It's okay. I dumped a huge thing on you. I'm glad you didn't reject me over it. And I'm glad he didn't either.”

We sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, listening to the steady beeps of the equipment around us.

Then Amos stirs, blinking his hollowed eyes open. “You're here,” he says as he gives Dominic and me a pained smile. He waves me over. “Come closer. I want to say hi.”

I get up and move my chair to his side. “You got it. How are you?” I force a big smile on my face, but on the inside my heart is breaking. His skin is so thin, so impossibly translucent. I can almost see the blood pumping through his thick veins. His face is etched with lines of fatigue, and he looks like a shell of a person.

Amos chuckles. “I've been better.”

I dig the Christina Rossetti book out of my purse, where I stuffed it while focusing on my driving lesson. “I brought something to read to you.” I glance at Dominic, who smiles and moves his chair beside mine, and ask, “Do you like poetry?”

Amos's face brightens. “I do. Dominic and I have shared the works of various poets together for a long, long time. Who do you have there?” He squints, tries to sit up a bit but groans.

Dominic rushes to his side and gently nudges Amos back. “You have to relax, Grandpa, okay?”

“It's Christina Rossetti,” I say. “Do you like her?”

Amos settles back against his pillows, reaching over to grasp Dominic's hand, his fingers shaking and gnarled from arthritis. “I do. Introduced Dominic to her, as a matter of fact.” He looks over at his grandson, love shining through his eyes so nakedly that I glance away to give them this private moment together. I wish I had a relationship like that for myself.

Then Amos says, “Dominic, will you grab a cup of coffee? Get three, actually. And take your time—I want to talk to your girl here.”

Dominic hedges. “I don't want to—”

“It's fine, boy. Besides, I think you need a break. Please, go.” He squeezes, then releases, Dominic's hand. “Come back in fifteen minutes, okay?”

Dominic looks unhappy, but he does as asked.

I swallow, alone now with Amos. What do I say? I turn my attention back to the book. “Um—”

He interrupts me, speaking in a gravelly but clear voice, “When I am dead, my dearest / Sing no sad songs for me.”

I look up in shock, speechless.

“It's Christina Rossetti,” he says with a chuckle. “She's one of my favorites. When Dominic told me he was interested in you, I suggested he should give you a gift that would soften your heart and make you see what a wonderful person he is. Poetry speaks words the heart can understand, even if the eyes are too afraid to see the truth.”

“Dominic's amazing.” I pause, his poetic words finally triggering a memory of reading them in her book. “Oh, I think I remember that poem now.” I take careful hold of Amos's bony hand, wrapping my fingers around his. “I'm glad you don't view me differently now because of…well, you know. And I'm glad you asked me to come back. I was worried about you.”

“Me too.” He laughs, then coughs, a wet, sputtering sound.

I reach for the tissue box and hand it to him.

He gives me a smile of thanks, and I glance away as he clears his throat several times. “Sorry. I'm fine now.”

I look back, taking his hand once again. It's suddenly shaky, and I try to handle it gingerly. I swallow.

“How long do I have?” he asks, his words blunt.

I blink. “What?”

“I know you can tell when I'm going to die. How much longer is it? I feel death creeping in my bones. I just want to know.” He sounds so matter-of-fact that I almost believe he's not worried. But his bravery is belied by the unsteady hand I'm grasping.

I don't want to. God, I want to pretend like I don't have a clue what he's talking about. But he knows the truth about me.

Still, I can't make myself return his bluntness. “It's…not long,” I say, not wanting, not ready to be direct.

He rolls his eyes. “Come on. Give a dying man the truth. I can handle it. I'm ready to go.” He whispers these last words.

A tear slips down the side of my face. I hadn't realized I was crying until then. “A few weeks at most,” I make myself say past a tight throat. My heart aches for him, for his family. It's so unfair.

He nods slowly at my words, remains silent.

I cling to his hand and tighten my grip. “I'm so sorry.”

“I'm ready to go,” he repeats; his gaze drifts away as he stares blindly at the empty doorway. “I've been in pain such a long time now. I'm tired of hurting.”

I stay silent, though my heart squeezes in empathy for him. What can I possibly say to make things better, easier? This poor, brave man has been fighting off death's grasp for so long now. I've never been around anyone this close to dying before. I feel lost and powerless.

“I've said my goodbyes.” Giving a soft exhale, Amos turns his face to look at me and, before I realize what's happening, he leans toward me, presses a small kiss on my cheek.

I jerk away and stand up, horror flooding my body. “Oh, my God!”

But it's too late.

The numbers descend rapidly over his head as his skin becomes pale, waxen. He gasps for air, sputters, coughs wracking his body again. His face softens, and with a smile, he breathes, “I'm…sorry, Isabel. But thank you…for this gift.”

And then, the light in his eyes is gone.

I shake his shoulders. “No, no, no, no.” This can't be happening. I buzz the nurse. “Come in now! Amos is—”

Dead. He's dead, but I can't say the word out loud.

Tremors take over my body and I can't stop twitching. My stomach roils. I find the garbage can and throw up until there's nothing left. But my gut pinches in pain, and I dry heave again. Again.

The nurse runs in, immediately assesses the situation and checks Amos's vitals. Of course, there's nothing. She sighs heavily, closes his eyes. “We've been waiting for this. Bless his heart.”

“Save him!” I find myself screaming. I can't have killed him. “Use the paddles or something, but don't just give up!”

She moves to takes my upper arms in her grasp, but I jerk out of her reach. She doesn't seem offended by my action. Instead, she speaks slowly, calmly. “We've all been waiting for this. He has a DNR on his chart—we can't resuscitate. It was against his wishes.” She scrutinizes my face, her brow creasing. “I'm so sorry this happened while you were here. We thought he had more time.” Her voice is soothing, but it doesn't ease my horror. “I need to find the doctor now, and I need to contact Amos's family. Are you okay? Do you want to come with me?”

I move farther out of her reach and shake my head. My stomach is still sick. I don't know what to do.

“What's going on?” Dominic asks from the doorway. He moves inside, puts the coffee cups down on the bedside table. “What—” When he sees Amos's face, peaceful in death, his gaze turns right to me, his eyes wide with alarm. “What did you do? What happened?
What happened?
”

I just stand there, dumb for what feels like ages, guilt washing over me in a fresh wave. “I…I'm so…” There are no words. There are no excuses. I let myself relax, let people in. And now Amos is dead. I can't forgive myself, and I know Dominic will never forgive me.

Tears slide down Dominic's face, and he nearly crumples.