Every Breath (6 page)

“You look awful, babe. Are you having bad dreams again?”

I nod.
Again?
She doesn’t know it, but the nightmares never stopped.

“Maybe you should consider going back on those anti-depressants. Those seemed to help you sleep better.” She stares at me with wide blue eyes brimming with concern and good intention.

I put my mug down on the counter, perhaps a little too hard. “First, Drew, and now you. Do I have a sign on my back that says to let me know I’m mentally deranged?”

“Of course not, sweetie. What do you mean? Why would Drew say that?”

Nice. Thanks, big mouth. Now you’ll have to explain the whole thing to Callie. “We kinda had an argument yesterday.”

Callie’s shoulders slump when she sighs. “About?”

I give her all of the gruesome details while I make my cup of coffee. I’m pretty sure I’m going to get a lecture about self-worth and optimism, so I need it ready. Stat. “And, after we talked a while about it, he decided to go on home. He said he’d call me today to tell me whatever it was he really wanted to say.” I cringe, just waiting for the storm that’s brewing across the counter from me.

“Okay, so are you going to do it?”

“Do what?” I ask, too surprised that she didn’t have more to say.

“See someone,” she explains. “You know . . . a professional.”

Oh, so I guess she agrees. Perfect. “I don’t know, Callie. I feel like I’m doing okay, considering.”

She reaches her slim hand across the bar to cover mine. “You’re doing okay, huh? So why won’t you talk about him?”

I jerk my hand back and bore my eyes into her. “Don’t. Don’t start this right now. All I can tell you is that I’ll
think
about seeing someone, okay?”

She rolls her pretty little blue eyes. “Fine.”

My goodness, if I didn’t love her so much, I’d slap her. “Okay, so now that we have that settled, why are you here? Don’t you have a husband to ravage or something?”

Her eyes twinkle at the thought. “Already thoroughly ravaged, thank you. I came over because I wanted to see if you minded me staying here tonight. Wes got a call from his boss late last night asking him to go to Chicago for a conference. He’s leaving around four o’clock today, so I thought we could have a girls’ night.”

Callie has always been scared to death of staying home by herself at night, but she has a good reason for it. When she was sixteen, her parents left her home alone while they went to a Christmas party. It was getting late, so she turned off all of the downstairs lights and went upstairs to her room to get ready for bed. After reading for about an hour, she reached over to shut the lamp off, and she heard a noise echoing up the stairs.

Thinking her parents were home, she walked out of her room to peer over the banister, about to call down to them, when she saw him. A looming shadowed figure moving silently through the dark kitchen. She took a step back, causing the wood floor to creak, and the stranger’s head whipped in her direction. She took off to her parents’ room, grabbing the cordless phone from the stand and hid in their closet.

She was on the phone with the police when she saw the light of the bedroom come on through the narrow slit underneath the door. When the door flung open suddenly, she threw the phone at the man’s silhouette and snatched up one of her mom’s stilettos. Before she could lunge at him with the shoe, she realized it was her dad falling backward onto the rug, holding his already bruised eye. Apparently, her parents had arrived home only moments after she spotted the intruder, and they heard the back door close when they entered the house from the garage. They had assumed that it was Callie’s boyfriend sneaking out, so her dad had come to find her and ream her out.

The man was caught less than an hour later, but Callie didn’t sleep for weeks and refused to be left alone at home. It is still rare for Callie to be home alone at night, and if she is, she’s usually on the phone with me the entire time.

“Cal, you can stay over any time you like.”

She claps her hands together. “Yippee! Let’s do it like old times, complete with facials, manicures, and a bottle of wine . . . or two.”

Wine? Uh, yes, please. After the debacle with Drew yesterday, I’m ready to unwind and just not think about men for a while.

Oh, crap. Drew.

“Wait, Drew is supposed to be calling me today sometime, and he may want to come over. Will you mind if he crashes our party for a bit, so we can talk about whatever it is that he wants to say?”

“Honey, this is Drew we’re talking about here. Coach Cute Butt can crash any party I attend.” She grins wickedly and winks at me. I swear she likes him more than I do.

“What would Wes say if he heard that?”

She ponders for only a moment before she shrugs. “Okay, brat, I just said Drew can crash the party. Wes is the only one I’d drag into the closet to play One Hundred Minutes in Heaven with, and he knows that.”

I laugh, turning to rinse my mug in the sink. “Cal, the game is
Seven
Minutes in Heaven.”

“I know that,” she explains, her mouth turning up into a smirk on one side. “With Wesley Baxter, I need way more than seven minutes.”

I sigh, shaking my head as I giggle. What can I say?

Newlyweds.

I look up from my book for the millionth time to check the clock. It’s nearly eight o’clock, and I haven’t heard from Drew all day, which is a little strange. If we didn’t see each other every day, he’s at least called or texted me to see how my day went.

“Just text him, Mak,” Callie says, also for the millionth time. “After yesterday’s fiasco, he may want to see just how interested you are in him.”

Maybe she’s right. I hadn’t thought about it that way. “
Okay
, I will, but there is a good chance he’s decided not to waste his time anymore.”

She rolls her eyes before tossing my cell phone to me. Well, in my general direction anyway. “Would you just do it already?”

I fish for my phone under the edge of the couch, hesitating to explore too much. It’s been a while since I’ve cleaned under there, and I’m quite certain the dust bunnies have become rabid by now. I yank my phone out as soon as I feel it against my fingertips, which have somehow made it out intact and unscathed.

Hey, Drew. I’ve been waiting on you to call all day. Where r u?’

No, too desperate and needy. Backspace, backspace, backspace.

‘Hey, Drew. Just wanted to let you know you have been on my mind.’

No, still not right.

Hey.

Perfect. When he texts back, I’ll just wing it according to whatever he says, instead of saying too much up front.

Aaaaand . . . sent.

I glance up at Callie, whose gaze quickly darts away when I catch her watching me. I know it’s absolutely killing her to know what I said, but after the numerous times I’ve told her to butt out lately, she’s at least
attempting
to be good. “Cal, I’m thinking now would be a good time for the wine. Let’s liven things up a little bit. I’m tired of being an old fuddy-duddy.”

She isn’t hard to convince. She jumps up from her perch on the window seat and takes off toward the kitchen, her socks barely keeping traction on the glossy wood floor. “I’ve got the wine. You get the music.”

This has been our ritual since we were teenagers—minus the wine. Every time we had a sleepover, we’d lock ourselves in the bedroom with soda and cheese puffs and crank up the music. We’d dance around the room with hairbrushes as microphones and argue over who got which Backstreet Boy. When we got tired, we’d smear green goop all over each other’s faces, give each other pedicures, and take turns reading articles to each other from the Enquirer. Add a little over ten years, some wine, and replace the cheese puffs with low-fat ice cream, and we haven’t changed all that much.

I put my mp3 player on the dock and select my favorite playlist entitled “Goulash,” simply because it has a little of every kind of music. At the first sounds of bass booming from the surround sound, Callie comes tearing into the room, two full glasses in hand, and slides to a stop just before bumping into me. “I love this song!” And then she proceeds to bump me on purpose . . . with her butt.

“Cal, stop grinding on me and give me that glass.”

After over three hours of shaking our “thangs” (as Callie says), belting out every song—quite inharmoniously, enduring Callie’s rancid-smelling face exfoliant, and scrubbing and polishing every finger and toe, I slump into the couch, realizing all too quickly that I’m definitely not sixteen anymore. “It’s nearly midnight, and I’m tired, and my sides hurt from laughing too much, and I’m pretty sure I have your face goop up my nose, and I’m almost positive I’ve had too much wine.”

“Mak, I can always tell when you’ve had too much wine. Your run-on sentences sprout run-on sentences.”

“Do not!” Okay, yes, they do.

“Uh huh.” She nods toward my cell phone. “No word from Drew?”

I pick it up again to check. “He hasn’t replied at all, and I don’t know why he can’t just at least tell me he’ll talk to me later and just reassure me that he’s okay and not mad or something, since he told me he’d talk to me today.”

She gapes at me.

“Yeah, yeah, another run-on. So sue me.”

“He probably didn’t see it until late and thought you’d be asleep. I bet he calls first thing in the morning.”

I shrug. “Maybe.”

Callie pulls my laptop from the end table and into her lap. “Hey, mind if I check my email? Wes said he’d be emailing me his hotel info in case I need it.”

“Just don’t use my laptop to dirty talk your husband,” I joke. “You’ll taint it. It’s a virgin, you know.”

She rolls her eyes as she clicks the mouse at lightning speed. “We need to do something about tha . . .” Her voice trails off as one eyebrow stretches impossibly high on her forehead. “Who is Sawyer?”

Uh oh. What did I leave up on the screen? “Sawyer?”

Now, both eyebrows are pulled up, dangerously close to popping right off her face.

I know I’m losing this argument before it even starts. “He’s my class’s soldier. I got a letter from him yesterday, and he asked me to let him know that they made it here. That’s all.”

Her eyes dart around the room before finally landing back on me. “Where’s mine? Why didn’t you say something? I forgot all about them!”

“Yes, you did.” I practically stumble to the table by the front door. “It’s right here, but it’s not technically a letter. It’s a postcard.”

It appears that she got the guy that wasn’t into writing letters this year. Her class’s postcard simply said “Thanks.” Thank goodness it wasn’t mine this time.

“Well,” Callie harrumphs, “mine sucks. Let me read yours.” She snags the stack of letters from my hands and pulls my two from the top. After carelessly yanking them from the envelopes, she scans over each one carefully, a slight smile forming as she progresses down the pages. “He’s a sweetheart, Mak. You really lucked out this year. I bet your class gets a ton of letters from him.”

I point to the computer screen and tap the open message window. “Actually, he wants to do a video chat with the class Monday when I give them his letter.”

“No fair!” she pouts. I watch her eyes skim over the messages that Sawyer and I sent to each other earlier. “Hmm . . . is it just me, or are you flirting with your soldier a little bit?”

“No, I’m not! I was just being nice.”

She stares at me for a moment, and as always, trying to peer into the deep recesses of my soul to determine what is really going on in there. Seeming to make up her mind that she believes me, she shrugs her shoulders. “Well, he’s probably dog ugly anyway. I mean, look at how nice he is. And he talks about being lonely. The gorgeous ones are always jerks.”

After processing what she says, I wonder if she is talking about Drew, too. “
All
of the gorgeous ones? What about Coach . . . uh, what are you calling him this week? Oh, yeah, what about Coach Sweet Cheeks?”

“Well,” she draws out and twists her mouth to the side, “today he’s a jerk for not calling you. And my hubby is a jerk for not emailing me like he said he would. So, I’m going to go upstairs to call him and take a bath.”

“Okay, that’s fine. I put clean sheets on the guest bed for you.”

Callie pecks me on the cheek. “Love you. See you in the morning. I’ll cook us something yummy for breakfast.”

Something “yummy” usually involves some sort of burnt, undercooked, or partially frozen protein of some sort, but I have to love her for trying. “Goodnight, Cal.”

As soon as she ascends the stairs, a familiar ping catches my attention. I grab my cell phone from the couch, thinking that Drew has finally texted me back, but my phone doesn’t show that I have any messages. I turn to the coffee table and notice a flashing icon on the instant messenger window. I immediately know who it is.

Sawyer: ‘Hi, again. Just happened to notice you were logged on and thought I’d say hello.’

Makenna: ‘Hello! I’m glad you did.’

I actually am glad he did, for some reason.

Sawyer: ‘Sorry to bother you. I just had some down time, so I was checking emails and saw you were on. I guess I’m starved for some sort of a link to home. How’s the weather in Alabama these days?’

Poor guy.

Makenna: ‘The weather hasn’t been too bad. It’s just starting to cool. And I don’t mind chatting with you, really. Feel free to anytime. You don’t have to answer this if it’s too personal, but don’t you have family back in the states?’

Sawyer: ‘None, actually. There is a man that I consider a grandfather, but he is in a nursing home just outside of Mobile in Saraland. It’s hard for me to contact him. I do call him when I can, but his health isn’t good, so he rarely can talk.’

Makenna: ‘I’m sorry to hear that. If I can help get a letter to him or something, I’m happy to. You’re talking about Hillcrest Manor, aren’t you?’

Sawyer: ‘I don’t send any. He is blind now, so he can’t read, but I appreciate the offer. How did you know it’s Hillcrest?’

Me: ‘Just a guess. I volunteered there a few years ago. Can’t the nurses read them to him?’

Sawyer: ‘He a stubborn old coot. He’ll hardly let anyone near him long enough to care for him, much less read to him. He’s still mad that I put him in there, but I really didn’t have a choice once he was unable to take care of himself and I got deployed again.’

Me: ‘Well, anytime I can do something for him, don’t hesitate to ask.’

Sawyer and I talk for a while about our favorite hobbies, food, music, and movies. I learn that he has played the guitar since he was seven years old, he adores Italian food, and he is a big fan of classic mystery novels and black and white movies. I told him all of my favorites, including authentic Italian pizza, a random assortment of music, and anything ever written by Jane Austen. He has this unquenchable thirst for anything “normal,” so he even has me describe how the trees and grass have changed with the cooler weather. I know that he’s really missing home.

Sawyer: ‘Wow, I can’t believe we’ve talked this long. It’s like three in the morning there now, right?’

Me: ‘Oh my gosh, it is! I didn’t realize we’ve been talking so long.’

Sawyer: ‘I’m glad we did. I needed that. I actually forgot where I was for a little while. In about a month, I’ll be home, though. For good, if all of my paperwork goes through.’

Me: ‘Really? That’s not much longer. Maybe, once you get back, you can visit the class. ‘

Sawyer: ‘I’d really like that. That will give me even more to look forward to.’

Me: ‘I know you must be ready to be home. I can’t imagine. Is that why you’ve decided not to go back?’

Sawyer: ‘Just one of a few reasons.’

Me: ‘Well, let me know when you get back home, and we’ll work something out.’

Sawyer: ‘I’ll do that. Get some sleep and I’ll talk to you on Monday. Can’t wait to meet your class.’

Me: ‘Goodnight . . . or day. Whatever. Lol!’

Sawyer: ‘Sweet dreams, Makenna.’

And they were sweet. I wake up just a short three hours later, but in a pleasant mood, with Sawyer on my mind. Thoughts of him plagued my dreams, and I kept seeing my imagination’s version of him walking into my classroom, appearing to have brought half of the desert back on his clothes and clinging in his hair, but finally home and safe. I know he’ll feel better about everything once he gets back home.

The shrieking smoke alarm followed by a string of expletives sends Darcy scrambling up the stairs and under my bed. Yep, that’d be Callie cooking. I would rather turn over, snuggle into my pillow, and will myself to continue my dreams of Sawyer, but I know that won’t happen now. Callie isn’t a believer of sleeping in.

I step into the kitchen as I finish tying my robe. “Need some help?”

Callie yelps in surprise, slinging half-cooked eggs onto the side of the refrigerator. “You scared the hell out of me! Why are you up already?”

I pull a few paper towels off the roll to catch the slimy glob of egg before it slips between the fridge and the countertop. “I’m not really sure what woke me up, but what got me out of bed was the smoke detector.”

“Sorry, babe,” she frowns. “Wes likes to joke that I use the smoke detector as a timer. But breakfast is almost done, so you can get something to eat and go back to bed. You look like you were awake all night.”

I’m sure the bags under the bags under my eyes are telling on me. “I was up a little late, but I’m rested enough. Maybe I’ll sneak in a little nap today.”

“You didn’t hear from him, did you?” It wasn’t a question. She knew. “Don’t lose sleep over it. There’s bound to be a good explanation for his silence.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I’m sure you’re right.” Funny thing is, I didn’t really think much about Drew last night. I mean, I’m a little worried about him and what is keeping him away, but talking to Sawyer helped keep it off my mind.