Hold Me Like a Breath (11 page)

I whimpered.

An officer reached for my hand, probably in apology or comfort.

Garrett lunged in front of my chair. “Don't touch her!”

“Hold this, please, Penelope,” Dr. Castillo said as he placed gauze on my arm. He turned to the officers with a face of calm fury. “A simple touch like that will harm my patient, causing her platelets to degrade and contusions or ecchymosis to form. I cannot stress how fragile Penelope is, so do your job, but do it quickly, sensitively, and there is absolutely no reason grown men like you need to be touching this girl.”

I understood his words were deliberate, that Garrett's had
been too—chosen to make me seem as young and delicate as possible and make the officers' sympathy and duty seem inappropriate. I understood they'd been effective, because the cops squirmed and apologized and handed over cards and more apologies along with requests that I call them if I thought of anything and even more apologies and sympathy for my loss. I understood the logic and intelligence of Garrett and Dr. Castillo's words, but they still stung. Maybe I'd wanted to answer questions, maybe I
could
be helpful. It hurt that only strangers thought this plausible.

Garrett left to show them out, and there was a tacit agreement that I'd stay with Dr. Castillo until he returned.

This would've been the ideal opportunity to ask about my counts. To question the empty whiteboard … but next to it on the wall was a calendar.

Tomorrow I'd be brotherless for a whole week. Seven days. And that would grow to a month, multiply to two. I couldn't stop time from pushing me farther and farther from Carter.

It was hard to look from the calendar to the blank space where the ghost of “PL:” could still be read, and to care about the numbers that should be after it.

Hugh, Garrett's oldest living brother, banged through the exam room door, swearing and demanding, “What was the idiot thinking? Bringing cops
in the clinic
? And you agreed with it? Letting her be questioned
here
?” He ended with another snarl of swears aimed at his brother, Nolan, and the world at large.

“Excuse me, Hugh?” I stood up. He was nearly a foot taller
than I was, but he hadn't had Mother's lessons on posture and diction. “I must have misheard you. Your brother was brilliant, Dr. Castillo too. I doubt the officers will be bothering us again.”

The doctor chimed in agreement and reassurances—but Hugh shrugged us off. “None of this would even be happening if Garrett had done his job and stayed with Carter. It's his fault your brother's dead.”

“Get. Out.” I wasn't sure if the words were Garrett's or mine. I tasted them on my gritted teeth, but he was standing in the door to the exam room, glaring flames and hands balled in fists.

“Oh, did I hurt little Garrett's feelings? Is that what they teach you at your fancy schools? How to be all sensitive and in touch with your inner girl?”

“Excuse me?” I said. “Inner
girl
?”

“I apologize for my brother,” growled Garrett. “He's probably too ignorant to understand why that's offensive.”

“Whatever,” snorted Hugh. He did a mock bow in my direction on his way out the door. “I don't have time to play babysitter anyway. Some of us have real responsibilities.”

“A few words to my father and that can be remedied.” I enjoyed the heartbeat's worth of panic my threat brought to Hugh's face before he covered it with a scoff and disappeared down the hall.

Garrett had always been different from his brothers. He was smarter, better—he'd been set apart to rise above the role of enforcer, to be my brother's second-in-command. It never
occurred to me that they might resent him—blame him for Carter's death.

My own deliberate distance, avoidance of eye contact and conversation weren't any kinder. In fact, they might have been crueler. My throat tightened with guilt.

“What do you want to do now? More TV or go sit in the solarium?” he asked.

“What do you want to do?”

“What I
want
is for you to find something to keep yourself busy so I can call your father and update him on what just happened.” The frustration in his words wasn't directed at me, so I shrugged it off. Dr. Castillo was less understanding, clearing his throat and raising his eyebrows. Garrett's cheeks flushed. “Please.”

I wondered if he ever hated me for seeming helpless, hated Carter for dying, hated my father for estranging him from his family, hated his brothers for resenting that, hated the Family for dictating all our life choices.

“What are my counts?”

Dr. Castillo hadn't expected me to pivot toward him, hadn't expected that question. He kept his poker face in place but clicked a relentless rhythm with the pen in his hand. “I'm afraid I don't remember off the top of my head, and I'm already late for a phone call, so if you'll excuse me.”

Before he shut the door to his office across the hall, I caught a glimpse of his whiteboard. Also blank.

Pity rolled off Garrett. It hit the skin on the back of my neck
and my bare arms, bruised at the crook of my elbows for the results Dr. Castillo couldn't, or wouldn't, tell me.

I rushed away from it. Down the clinic hallway and into the library.

There were three things waiting on the other side of the oak doors: Mother, Father, and my red folder.

Garrett was a half step behind me, catching the door from my hand. “Penny, can we talk? I—” and then he saw my parents. “Hello, ma'am, sir. Did your trip to Turtle Island go well?”

Father waved off the question. “Could you excuse us for a minute? We need to speak to Penelope.” His face was only a half shade less intense than the folder he gripped between both hands.

Mother's face was wet, splotched with sadness, tight with exhaustion.

I saw Garrett taking this all in. Confusion, fear, duty, and reluctance all fighting for command of his face. “Of course, sir. I'll wait for you in the solarium, Penny.”

In another world, I would have asked him to stay. In a better world, Carter would be by my side for this conversation,
interrupting to argue my case or whisper encouragement under his breath.
Go. Fight. Win
.

In
this
world, I'd have to stand on my own two feet and face the consequences of my hope.

Mother sniffled. She looked so broken, and I fought the urge to apologize for every tear, every “Penny line,” every thought or feeling that would make her worry.

“How was Turtle Island?” I asked with all the innocence I could fake. “I didn't expect you back until later.”

Father ignored me. He threw the folder onto a table and the contents spilled out, glossy brochures and application essays mixed with blood count charts and bullet point lists of arguments. I winced as my careful organization was annihilated beneath the fist he pounded on the table, paper clips flying and pages tearing. “Penelope Maeve, what
is
this?”

“I was going to talk to you about it, before …”

“You want to leave me too?” Mother asked.

Her “too” crushed my heart. I should have promised to never leave the estate again, to never even
want
to leave the estate again, but Carter's voice echoed in my head,
This matters
.

“I'm not trying to leave you, but attending a school for my senior year is something I—”

“You can't. It's not safe. If he … And
you
…” She was wringing her hands, shredding the tissue she clutched between fingers that were gnawed and raw instead of manicured. “Please, excuse me. I—” She left the room before finishing that sentence, before we could see her cry.

Her sniffles creating an audible trail that I tried to follow, but Father stepped in front of me. “I'll check on her as soon as we're done with this conversation,” he said. “Now, explain.”

“I know I'd need protection. But my counts—” I plucked up a graph and turned to him. “They've been really good. Or they were. I can't get any answers on what they are now. Is that your doing?”

“Now is not the time to be taking risks, Penny. You will not be going to school in the fall. This topic is closed.” Father slid the papers off the desk into a trash can and reached for the page I was holding.

“I'm not okay with that.” I held tight to the chart and Carter's advice, “
No” is never the final answer
. “I understand if I can't go in the fall, but I'm not okay with the topic being closed. This is important to me. Maybe by spring semester things will be more settled and I could go then.”

“Don't you realize how important
you
are to this family?”

I wanted to ask if the
f
on that word was upper- or lowercase. Did he mean the damaged trio of remaining Landlows, or the greater group of the Business? As the sole remaining heir, had he decided to let me have a role?

“
I'm
important?”

“Essential.” He leaned over and kissed the top of my head, prying the paper from my distracted fingers. “Now more than ever. I'm sorry if I haven't made that clear.”

“How about a compromise?” I suggested. I needed to walk away from this confrontation feeling like I had a meager amount of control, some say in my future.

“Like?” Father's voice was both amused and wary.

“No more Nolan. Get me a new tutor.”

“Done.” His laugh boomed in the quiet room. It startled us both. Laughter was a foreign sound on the post-Carter estate. “Sweet pea, I promise you will never have to endure another one of Nolan's lectures. I have plans to inflict him on some other Family members instead.”

“Wow. Thank you.”

He returned my smile. “Perhaps I'll start teaching some of your lessons. Would you like that?”

I could only nod. Only imagine the Family things he could and would be teaching me.

“Then that's settled.” He folded the graph in half before dropping it in the trash.

Father followed me to the solarium. “Wait here. I need to speak with Garrett about what happened in the clinic this morning. Then I need to go calm your mother.”

I tried to determine if there was anger in his voice, if Hugh's insults were a reflection of the Family's opinion of Garrett, or just the Wards'.

I touched his arm, gripping his sleeve. He froze with his hand on the doorknob and gave me his full attention. “Father, I've been meaning to thank you for assigning Garrett to my protection.”

He looked at me with raised eyebrows. “This is unexpected. I thought you hated having a shadow, sweet pea? Or people carrying guns? Garrett tells me you've barely acknowledged him all week.”

“He makes me feel safe.” I almost choked on my guilt. Because
he did, and I'd never told him. I hadn't thought about whether or not it felt like blame when I excluded him from my cocoon of grief.

Father's face softened. “You will always be safe here, Penelope. I will never let anything happen to you.” He kissed the top of my head. “Now wait here a moment.”

I watched through the glass in the solarium door as he moved to Garrett, placed a hand on his shoulder, and spoke. Whatever he said made Garrett's face crumple with relief and emotion.

The solarium truly was a stunning room; sparkling glass walls supported a soaring glass ceiling. Carefully cultured flowerbeds bordered a soft path of wood chips dotted with cushioned chairs and benches and tables. There was a fountain in the center where koi splashed and swam like fragments of sunshine.

The only thing I focused on was the beautiful boy standing in the middle, looking both lost and found as his eyes met mine. Once the door closed us in a bubble of glass and sun, plants and privacy, I asked, “What did my father say to you?”

“Thank you,” said Garrett. He crossed the room and gestured to a bench. I moved a computer tablet to the side so we could both sit. “He thanked me for making you feel safe. And I should thank you for saying that. I … I thought you hated me too. Princess, you never talk to me. You don't even look at me if you can help it.”

“I don't hate you. It's just—I—” My voice broke and broke again. “It hurts to see you without him.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I'm sorry. And I'm sorry about school. Your dad told me.”

I shrugged off that topic. I wasn't sure if the library showdown had been a victory or a defeat. No school—for now—but no Nolan either. And more Father, more importance with the Family.

“Why did the police ask about the Zhus?” I asked instead.

“We think it was them. And that they were behind the security breach at Turtle Island too.”

I tried to form a mental picture of them. Stern, silent father; gentle, graceful mother; and Ming, their short, sniffling son who failed to make eye contact or conversation and had hidden away in the library for most of their visit. I'd only met them once, a half-dozen years ago.
They
were responsible for Carter?

It was unfathomable that a Family would attack another. Upstarts, maybe. But
the
Families? No.

“Why the Zhus? Why not the Ever—” But then the last time I'd seen Carter filled my mind. The whole image. Parts I hadn't thought about until now. Things I hadn't processed. “His shirt was—his chest was …”

I bent over and tried to breathe. My throat closed up to the diameter of a pea, then a needle. I needed so much air and there wasn't a way to get it to my lungs.

Garrett was instantly kneeling on the wood chips at my feet. “Princess? Penny? Breathe.” His hands kept reaching for me and stopping. They hovered near my hands, near my knees, near my feet. Rested like a question on the toes of my shoes. “That's better. Look at me. Breathe with me. In. Out. In.”

The fog forming around the edges of my vision began to clear. My throat gradually unclenched. Garrett stayed at my feet,
watched me with eyes of panic and grief. “We should get you to the clinic.”