Текст книги "Ten Tiny Breaths"

Автор книги: K. A. Tucker

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Chapter Twenty

I study the titles in Dr. Stayner’s library, busying myself so I don’t have to look at the fat lip I gave him after yesterday’s group session. It complements the black eye I gave him in last week’s session. Since the day Trent said good-bye, I feel emptier than ever before. There can be no doubt—Trent or Cole, mistake or murderer—that man had a strong hold on my heart, and he’s taken a chunk of it with him.

“So, my sons have taken to calling Wednesday’s “Dad’s Ass Whooping Wednesdays,” Dr. Stayner announces.

Well, now that the moose is on the table, I can’t very well avoid it. “Sorry,” I mumble, hazarding a glance at his face and wincing.

He smiles. “Don’t be. I know I pushed you a bit harder than I probably should have. Normally I ease my patients into talking about their trauma. I thought a more aggressive approach might work for you.”

“What gave you that brilliant idea?”

“Because you’ve compartmentalized your emotions and pain so tightly that we might need dynamite to break through,” he jokes. “I mean, look at you. You’re a trained fighter. You could probably set my sons straight. In fact, I might have you over for dinner to beat the snot out of them soon.”

I roll my eyes at my unconventional quack of a doctor. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would. You’ve taken all that tragedy and channeled into one hell of a tough defense mechanism.” His voice turns softer. “But all defense mechanisms can be broken. I think you’ve already learned that.

“Trent—” His name drifts over my tongue.

He nods. “We’re not going to talk about the accident today.” My shoulders slump with that news. That’s usually all Dr. Stayner wants to talk about. I wait as he makes himself comfortable in his chair. “We’re going to talk about coping. About all the ways that a person can cope. The good, the bad, the ugly.”

Dr. Stayner goes through a laundry list of coping mechanisms, marking each one off on a finger, cycling through his hands several times. “Drugs, alcohol, sex, anorexia, violence—” I sit and listen, wondering where he’s going with it all. “An obsession with ‘saving’ or ‘fixing’ that which is broken.” I know who he’s talking about.

I was Trent’s coping mechanism.

“All these mechanisms seem like they help at the time, but in the end, they leave you weak and vulnerable. They’re not healthy. They’re not sustainable. No human can lead a healthy fulfilling life with lines of cocaine by their bedside. Make sense so far?”

I nod. I’m no good for Trent. That’s what Dr. Stayner is saying. That’s why Trent said good-bye. The wound inside is still raw from that day, but I don’t bury the pain. I’m done burying things. There’s no point. Dr. Stayner will drag it right back where it’s impossible to avoid, like a buffalo carcass sprawled out on a one lane highway.

“Good. Now, Kacey, we need to find you a coping method that works for you. Kick boxing is not it. It helps you channel your rage, yes. But let’s find a way to permanently extinguish that rage. I want you to brainstorm with me. What do you think are healthy coping mechanisms?”

“If I knew, I’d be doing them, wouldn’t I?”

I get an eye roll. An eye roll from a professional. “Come on now, you’re a smart girl. Think back to all the things you’ve heard. What other people have suggested. I’ll get you started. Talking to others about the trauma is one.”

Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes at him.

Dr. Stayner waves his hands dismissively. “I know, I know. Believe me, you’ve made yourself clear. But talking about your pain and sharing it with others is one of the most powerful ways to cope. It helps you release the hurt, not bottle it up until you explode. Other ways to cope include painting, and reading, setting goals, journaling about your feelings.”

Hmmm. I could do journaling. It’s still a private activity.

“Yoga’s fantastic too. It helps clear your mind, it makes you focus on your breathing.”

Breathing. “Ten tiny breaths,” I murmur more to myself, feeling my lips curl with the irony.

“What’s that?” Dr. Stayner leans forward, pushing his bifocals up with one finger.

I shake my head. “No, nothing. Something my mother used to say. Take ten tiny breaths.”

“When did she say that?”

“Whenever I was sad or upset or nervous.”

Dr. Stayner’s fingers rub his chin. “I see, and did she say anything else? Do you remember?”

I smirk. Of course I remember. It’s firmly emblazoned in my head. “She would say, ‘Just breathe, Kacey. Ten tiny breaths. Seize them. Feel them. Love them.’”

There’s a long pause. “And what do you think she meant by that?”

I frown irritably. “She was telling me to breathe.”

“Hmmm.” He rolls a pen over the surface of his desk as if in deep thought. “And how will tiny breaths help? Why tiny? Why not deep breaths?”

I slap my hands on his desk. “That’s what I always asked. Now you see.”

But he doesn’t see. By the tiny crook of his lips, he sees something different. Something that I don’t see. “Do you think it matters if they’re tiny or deep?”

I scowl. I don’t like these kinds of games. “What do you think she meant by it?”

“What do you think she meant by it?”

I want to punch Dr. Stayner in the mouth again. I really, really want to punch him again.

***

Just breathe, Kacey. Ten tiny breaths. Seize them. Feel them. Love them. I play these words over and over in my head like I have a thousand times before to no avail, as I lie awake in my cell that’s not actually a cell. It’s a nice small room with a private bath and sunny yellow walls, but I feel confined all the same.

Dr. Stayner knew what my mom meant right away. I could tell by that snotty smirk on his face. I guess you have to be super smart. Dr. Stayner is obviously super smart. I, obviously, am not.

I inhale deeply, jogging my memory of the conversation. What did he say, again? Breathing can be a coping mechanism. And then he questioned the tiny breaths. But he set up me. He already had the answer to it. And the answer is …

One … two… three … I count to ten, hoping profound wisdom will land on my head. It doesn’t.

Do you think it matters if they’re tiny or deep? he asked. Well, if they’re not tiny breaths and they’re not deep breaths, then they’re just … breaths. Then you’re just breathing for the sake of … breathing.

… Seize them. Feel them. Love them …

I bolt up straight, a weird calming sensation flowing through my body as understanding dawns on me.

It’s so simple. God, it’s so fucking simple.

Stage Eight ~ Recovery

Chapter Twenty-One

Six weeks later. Group therapy.

One … Two … Three … Four… Five… Six … Seven … Eight… Nine … Ten.

I try not to fidget with my fingers as they sit folded in my lap. “My name is Kacey Cleary. Four years ago, my car was hit by a drunk driver. My mother and father, my best friend, and my boyfriend were all killed. I had to sit in the car, holding my dead boyfriend’s hand, listening to my mother take her last breath, until the paramedics could free me.” I pause to swallow. One … two… three … I take deep breaths this time. Long, deep breaths. They’re not tiny. They’re huge. They’re monumental.

“I used alcohol and drugs to drown out the pain at first. Then I moved on to violence and sex. But now,” I look directly at Dr. Stayner, “I just appreciate the fact that I can hug my sister, and laugh with my friends, and walk, and run. That I am alive. That I can breathe.”

I’m above water.

And this time I’m staying where I belong.

***

A loud rush of clapping greets me at Penny’s as I turn the corner to find everyone waiting for me. Nate’s the first to greet me, stooping down and lifting me up into an enormous bear hug. I don’t even flinch with the contact. I’ve learned to appreciate it fully again.

“I always knew you were batshit crazy.” Ben hollers from somewhere. I whirl around in time for him to scoop me up and hold me tight to his body. “And tough as nails, for surviving all of that,” he adds softly in my ear. “I would have cried like a five year old girl. You okay?”

I pat his arm as he puts me down. “I’m getting there. I’ve got a really long road ahead.”

“Well, it hasn’t been the same without you here, I can tell you that much,” he says. His brow suddenly furrows. “Hey, so is that your sister over there?” His head nods toward Livie, who’s standing with Storm and Dan. “Because, I was thinking of asking her—”

“She’s fifteen.” I smack him playfully in the stomach. “Have they not taught you the meaning of statutory rape in school yet, Lawyer Boy?”

His eyes widen in surprise, his hands going up in a sign of surrender. “Dammit,” I hear him mutter under his breath, shaking his head as he gives Livie another quick once over.

It’s just before opening and the girls are in their outfits—or lack thereof—so Mia has stayed home with a sitter. Livie’s eyes stick to Storm and Dan, afraid to wander anywhere. Tanner’s there too, his jaw hanging open shamelessly.

The biggest surprise though? My unconventional quack is there.

“I’m not sure this constitutes healthy patient-doctor protocol,” I joke, poking him in the ribs.

He chuckles as he throws his arm around me in a side hug. “Neither does punching your doctor in the face … twice, but I let that slide so do me a solid.”

Livie and Storm’s mouths drop open while Dan and Ben double over, laughing.

“Champagne, anyone?” Cain sweeps through with a pat on the back and a tray of tall, filled flutes. A twinge of familiarity saddens the moment as I remember the last time someone handed me a champagne flute. I was with Trent.

I miss him. I miss his eyes, his touch, the way he made me feel.

That’s right. I can admit it to myself now without guilt or anger or resentment.

I miss Trent. I miss him every day.

A hand slips under my elbow and squeezes. It’s Storm. She somehow senses the turmoil going on inside me. She understands.

“To the toughest nut I’ve ever had the pleasure of cracking,” Dr. Stayner announces and we all clink glasses and sip.

“So, am I cured, Doc?” I ask, savoring the sweet fizzy liquid pooling in my mouth for more than the taste of it. It reminds me of Trent’s mouth, of the last time that he kissed me.

He winks. “I’ll never use the word cured, Kacey. Healed is a better word. There’s one last epic step in your recovery before I’d say you’re on your way to healing properly though.”

My brow quirks. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

“I can’t tell you. You’ll know when you know. Trust me.”

I quirk my brow playfully. “Trust a quack?”

“I very expensive quack,” he adds with a wink.

Speaking of which … “So who is this friend of a friend of a friend of Dan’s who got me in to see you? I should probably thank them,” I ask innocently.

Dr. Stayner’s eyes flash to Storm and then quickly avert to the bar. “Oh, look! Caviar!” He slips away to a platter which, no doubt does not have caviar. That pretty much confirms it for me, but I play along anyway. “Livie?”

She looks like the proverbial cat who swallowed the canary. “Don’t get mad?”

I wait, smoothing my expression.

“Trent’s dad paid for it all.”

I mock gasp and level her with my best glare.

Livie rushes to explain, all flustered and red-faced. “You needed help, Kacey and it’s really expensive help. I didn’t want to put you in some government-paid shit because they didn’t help you last time, and the wait lists were too long and—” Tears well up. “Carter had you listed as Dr. Stayner’s patient in under an hour. Dr. Stayner is a friend of theirs and he’s really good and—” The tears are streaming now. “Please don’t digress. You’re doing so well. Please don’t.”

“Livie!” I grab hold of her shoulders and shake her. “It’s okay. I figured it out already. And you did the right thing.”

She swallows. “I did?” There’s a delay and then she punches my arm, her face twisting in a scowl. “You knew and you let me freak out?”

I laugh and pull her to me in a tight hug. “Yes, Livie. You always do the right thing. You know, I always think I need to take care of you, but in truth you’re the one who takes care of me. You always have.”

She laughs softly as she rubs the tears away with the back of her hand.

I pause, not sure if I should ask, but I do anyway. “Have you talked to Carter about Trent?”

Livie nods and offers me a gentle smile. I told her about Trent’s goodbye. I’m pretty sure I heard her crying through the phone. Even she can’t hate Trent. “Carter calls me every few weeks to check in. Trent’s doing well, Kacey. Really good,” she whispers.

“Good,” I nod, smiling. I don’t ask anymore. It’s best that we stay apart, I know that. But it still hurts inside. God it still hurts. But feeling is okay, I tell myself. I won’t hurt forever.

“So, girls, I have to tell you something,” Storm interrupts us and looks up at Dan. With a nod from him, she announces, “I’m leaving Penny’s. I’m going to open up an acrobatics school!”

Livie and I must be mirror images of each other with our jaws hanging open.

“But that’s not all, Dan just bought a house on the beach and he’s asked Mia and I to move in with him and I said yes. Well,” she rolls her eyes, “Mia said yes and what she says goes.”

There’s a moment of silence before Livie throws her arms around Storm. “That’s great, Storm!” She begins to cry again. “Oh, these are happy tears, really. I’m going to miss you so much.”

Bittersweet delight washes over me as Storm and I exchange a glance over Livie’s shoulder. I’m going to miss living next door to her. Everything’s changing. Everyone’s moving on.

“I was counting on that because,” Storm pushes Livie back for a moment and takes a deep breath, suddenly nervous. “The house is big. I mean, huge. Dan inherited money from his grandma. We have five bedrooms there. And … well … you two have become such an important part of our lives and I want it to stay that way. So we were thinking you guys could move in with us.”

I look from Livie to Storm to Dan. “Are you sure you don’t need therapy, Dan?” I ask with all seriousness.He only chuckles, pulling Storm close to him.

Storm plows on. “Livie, you can concentrate on getting that scholarship to Princeton that I know you’re going to get. Kacey—” she fixes me with a stern look, taking hold of my hands in hers, “—figure out what you want in life and go after it. I’m here for you every step of the way. I’m not going anywhere.”

I nod, biting my lip to stop myself from crying. It doesn’t work. Soon, I can’t see her through my tears.

My happy tears.

***

“Sure is going to be quiet without you ladies around here,” Tanner says, scratching his head as he sits down beside me on the park bench in the commons. It’s nine at night and dark. The movers are coming in the morning for our things.

“Like what you’ve done with the place, Tanner,” I say as I take in the tiny white Christmas lights strung through freshly pruned bushes. The gardens are weeded and cut back and there’re a few tiny purple flowers blooming throughout. A new barbeque sits next to a picnic table and, by the lingering scent of grilled meat in the air, I’d say the commons is finally getting some use.

“That’s all your sister’s doing,” Tanner mumbles. “Kept herself busy while you were away.” He leans back and settles crossed arms on his protruding belly. “So now I’ve got three apartments to fill. Yours, Storm’s, and 1D.”

Without meaning to, I peer over my shoulder at the dark window and sadness lingers. “You haven’t rented it yet? Trent’s been gone for months.” Saying his name makes my mouth dry up and a hollowness blossom inside me.

“Yeah, I know. But he paid for six months. Plus I was hopin’ he might show up again.” He picks at his fingernails in silence for a moment. “I heard the whole story. Livie told me. Tough thing for both of you.”

I nod slowly.

Tanner stretches his legs out. “Did I ever tell you about my brother?”

“Uh … no …?”

“Name was Bob. He went out one night with his girlfriend. Had one beer too many. Thought he was fine to drive. Hey, it happens. No excuse, but it happens. Wrapped his car around a tree. Killed his girlfriend.” I wait quietly for Tanner to continue, watching his hands fumble and his one leg jitter. “He was never the same after that. I found him hanging in Dad’s barn six months later.”

“I …” I swallow as I reach forward tentatively and pat Tanner on the shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Tanner.” That’s all I can say.

He nods, accepting my condolences. “It’s a terrible accident on all fronts. The wrong doer. The victims. They all suffer somethin’ fierce, don’t you think?”

“Yes, you’re right,” I answer hoarsely, concentrating on the tiny Christmas lights, wondering if Tanner needed two months of intense therapy to come to that realization.

“Well, anyway,” Tanner stands up. “I hope Bob’s at peace now. I like to think he met up with Kimmy in Heaven. Maybe she forgave him for what he did to her.” Tanner walks away with his hands in his pockets, leaving me to stare at the dark window in 1D.

And suddenly I know what I need to do.

I can barely dial Dr. Stayner’s number, my hands trembling. He gave it to me in case of emergencies. This is an emergency.

“Hello?” the smooth voice answers and I picture him sitting in a wing chair by a fire with his glasses sitting on his nose, reading a Shrinks Today magazine.

“Dr. Stayner?”

“Yes, Kacey? Are you alright?”

“Yes, I am. Dr. Stayner, I have a favor to ask of you. I know it’s probably an abuse of our relationship and confidentiality but—”

“What is it, Kacey?” I can hear the patient smile in his voice.

“Tell him that I forgive him. For everything.” There’s a long pause. “Dr. Stayner? Can you do that? Please?”

“I certainly can, Kacey.”

Stage Nine – Forgiveness

Chapter Twenty-Two

Waves lap at my feet as I walk along the shore line toward home, watching the sun dive below the horizon for the night. When Storm said “the beach,” I didn’t know she meant a property that backs right onto Miami Beach. And when she said “a big house” I didn’t know she meant a sprawling three story mansion with wrap-around balconies and a separate wing for Livie and I. Apparently, Grandma Ryder had her wrinkly fingers in the oil fields and her only grandchild, Officer Dan, made out like a fox in a henhouse.

We’ve been here almost five months and I still haven’t quite settled. I don’t know if it’s because it’s too beautiful to be real, or if it’s missing something.

Or someone.

Every night, I walk along the beach, listening to the calm waves lap up onto the shore, appreciating the fact that I can walk, and run, and breathe. And love. And I wonder where Trent is. And how he’s doing. If he’s found a good coping mechanism to help him heal. Dr. Stayner never updated me after that phone call. I trust that he passed on the message. I have no doubt about that. I can only hope that it has brought Trent some level of peace.

But I haven’t pushed further. I have no right. I’ve asked Livie a few times if she’s heard about Trent from Carter. Carter makes a point of calling Livie every other Sunday to check in on us and ask her how school is going. I think Livie really likes that. It’s like she has a father figure in her life to help fill the vast hole left after the accident. Maybe, in time, I’ll be able to talk to him too. I don't know …

Every time I ask about Trent though, she all but pleads with me not to hurt him or myself by reopening those wounds. Of course Livie’s right. Livie always knows what’s best.

I try not to think about Trent moving on with his life, even though he probably has. Thinking of him with his arms around anyone else only feeds the deep ache in my chest. I need more time before I can face that reality. And my love for him, well, I don’t know that it will ever fade. I’ll just move on with my life, a part of me always wishing he were in it. Moving on … Something I haven’t done since my parents died.

My feet slow as I gaze out at the sun dropping below the horizon, its last light dancing over thousands of ripples, and I thank God for giving me a second chance.

“I think I like this meeting place better than the laundromat.”

The sound of that deep voice stops my heart dead. I gasp and spin around to find blue eyes and a mess of golden brown hair.

Trent is standing in front of me with his hands in his pockets. Here, in person.

I struggle to kick start my breathing as my heart starts up again, only now it’s pounding slow and rhythmic against my chest cavity. A jumble of emotions slam into me and I stand frozen, trying to separate and understand each one so I can deal with them. Not suppress them. No more bottling.

I feel happiness. Happiness that Trent is here.

Longing. Longing to feel him against my skin again, his arms protecting me, his mouth on mine.

Love. Whatever happened between us, it was real. I know it was real. And I love him for letting me experience that.

Hope. Hope that something beautiful may come from this tragic story.

Fear. Fear that it won’t.

Forgiveness … forgiveness.

“Why are you here?” I blurt out without thinking, my body trembling.

“Livie asked me to come.”

Livie. Always the surprise. Trent’s voice is so low and smooth. I could close my eyes and listen to it vibrate in my ear drums all night long, but I don’t because I’m terrified he’ll disappear. So I stare at him, at his parted lips, at his blue on blue irises as they roam my face.

“I guess she’s convinced you don’t stuff kittens into ATMs anymore.” I finally manage to say.

He chuckles, his eyes twinkling. “No, I suppose that’s one less worry for her.”

He’s a mere five feet away, three steps from my arms, and I can’t close the distance. I want to, so badly. But it’s not my right. That lean strong body, that face, that smile, that heart—none of it belongs to me anymore, outside of my dreams. Someone else will enjoy that blessing. Maybe they already are. “Does Dr. Stayner know you’re here?”

I watch Trent’s chest rise and fall with a deep inhale. “Yeah, I told him. I don’t hide anything from him anymore.”

“Oh.” I hug myself tightly. “So how are you doing?”

He gazes at me for a long moment before he smiles. “I’m good, Kacey.” There’s a pause. “But not great.”

I feel my brow furrow with concern. “Why? What’s wrong? Is therapy not working?”

“What’s wrong?” Trent’s brow arches as he takes two steps forward, closing the distance, his hands firmly gripping the sides of my waist. I suck in a gasp of air, his proximity to my body both alarming and intoxicating. “What’s wrong is that every morning and every night, I lie in bed wondering why you’re not beside me.”

My legs start to wobble. “You know why,” I answer in a low, defeated voice. Inside I’m screaming, cursing reality.

“No, I knew why before. But you set me free, Kacey, remember?”

I forgive you. I nod and swallow. His hand lifts to stroke my cheek with the pad of this thumb.

“And there’s nowhere I’d rather be than with you.” His thumb grazes my bottom lip.

I can’t seem to catch a breath. My hand shakes as I push a lock of hair back behind my ear. “What does Dr. Stayner say about this? Isn’t this wrong?”

“Oh, Kace.” Trent’s lips curve and he flashes me the deepest set of dimples I’ve ever seen, buckling my knees. “Nothing’s ever been more right.”

That’s all I need to hear. I barrel into his arms, my mouth connecting with his.

Seizing him. Feeling him. Loving him.