Fighting to Breathe by Aurora Rose Reynolds
“Stay away from him,” Ben says, standing upright and turning his head my way.
“He won’t even know I’m in town,” I tell him, taking a step back then turning on my heels and heading to my car, where I sit for the rest of the ferry ride.
*
“Mom,” I call as I walk into the house.
The smell hits me, and it’s exactly the same as when I was little. It’s so familiar that I almost choke on it as it saturates my lungs.
“Honey,” Mom whispers from the couch, where she is lying covered by one of the many blankets she knitted.
“Are you okay?” I ask, going to her side, getting down on my knees.
She still looks the same as the last time I saw her a month ago. Her hair is long and grey, her face tan from hours in the sun, planting flowers, and her eyes are a brown similar to mine. It’s hard to believe she is so sick, that she only has months to live. The doctors caught the cancer too late, and it has already spread from her uterus to her stomach. They said she could try chemo, but she refused, saying that if she was going to die, she would do it on her terms, and not while having poisons pumped into her body.
I can’t say I agree with her. The idea of her leaving me behind kills me every time I think about it. I want her to fight, but it’s not my battle.
“I’m fine; I just wanted to lie down for a bit. Now tell me, how was your trip?”
“Mom, I spoke to you every few hours,” I remind her while helping her sit up.
“I know, but this is a small town. You never know who you may run into.”
She was right about that. “I saw Rhonda. You never mentioned her being pregnant,” I mutter, leaving out Austin’s best friend, thinking that maybe if I ignore anyone having anything to do with him, I can ignore the fact this is Cordova and chances are I will see him at some point.
“Was Ben with her?” So much for that plan.
“Yes, they seem…happy,” I whisper out the last word. Happiness seems like such a foreign concept to me. I don’t even remember the last time I was really happy.
“What’s wrong?” my mom asks, touching the side of my face.
“Just tired.”
“Your room is all set up, why don’t you go take a nap? Then we will go to The Picnic Basket for dinner.”
“That place is still here?” I ask in disbelief. The Picnic Basket is a small metal trailer that was turned into a restaurant that serves mainly hamburgers and fries, and it’s only open during the summer months. To the kids in Cordova, it’s like McDonald’s. Normally, I would have immediately agreed to eat there, because the burgers are amazing, but the idea of running into anyone else I used to know doesn’t sound appealing.
“Of course it is. Go lie down and we will leave in a couple hours.”
“Mom, I really don’t think I’m up to going out tonight,” I tell her, watching as she folds up the blanket that was covering her and lays it over the back of the couch.
“You loved eating there before you left home,” she says, turning to face me looking disappointed.
“Sorry, you’re right. It sounds great,” I say, putting a smile on my face that I can tell doesn’t reach my eyes. I don’t want my last memories with her to be tainted by my fears or my past; she deserves so much more.
“Perfect, now go lie down.” She pushes me towards my old bedroom, which thankfully isn’t the way I left it years ago. The pictures that used to be on my walls are now gone, the walls painted a beige color that goes well with the dark blue bedspread and the painting of the ocean at night that is hung above the bed.
The only thing in the room that remained the same is a picture of my dad and me. We had gone four-wheeling right after a rainstorm. The ground was muddy, and my dad had driven through every puddle on the trail. I was sitting in front of him, so I was covered in mud from head to toe, but we were both smiling. I remember that moment and thinking that my stomach hurt from laughing so much.
How am I going to make it through this, Daddy? I think, running a finger over the top of the frame, then I go over to the bed and lie down, pulling the quilt from the footboard up over me and closing my eyes laying there awake until my mom comes in two hours later to get me up to go to dinner.
“Can we stop by the liquor store on the way to dinner?” Mom asks from the passenger seat of my car.
“Should you be drinking?” I frown then turn onto the main road—well, really the only road in town.
“What’s it going to do, kill me?” she jokes, making me inhale a sharp breath. “Honey,” she says quietly, and I look at her briefly, wondering how the hell she can be so casual about this. “I’m dying. When it will happen, only the good Lord knows, but it is happening, and there is nothing you or I can do about it. I have made my peace with it, and I want you to do the same.” She reaches over to pat my thigh.
“Make peace with it?” I repeat, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Yes, make peace with it. If you think about it, I’m lucky. I know I’m going to die. I know that sooner rather than later God is going to come take me home, and when he does, I will be ready. I will have had a chance to say goodbye to the people I care about and right any wrongs I’ve caused. I’m lucky, honey.”
“What about me?” I wring my hands on the steering wheel, feeling my chest get tight as I fight back tears.
“I love you, honey. I loved you before you were even a sparkle in my eye, and I will always be with you. I know this isn’t easy for you. I know there are going to be a lot of tears shed, but we’re lucky, honey.”
I press my lips together to keep from saying something I might regret. I’m not lucky; in fact, I’m unlucky to the tenth power. How many people have I lost, how many people do I have to loose before it’s enough.
“Oh look! Sheryl!” She yells, pulling me from my thoughts as she reaches over, pressing the horn on my steering wheel while her other hand shoots across me so she can wave out my window. Looking to where she’s waving my heart begins to beat wildly against my ribcage when I see not Sheryl, but Austin walking into one of the many bars that litter Main Street, only it’s not just Austin—it’s him and a woman with her arm wrapped around the back of his waist as he holds the door open for her.
Even from the distance separating us, my lungs compress at the beauty that is him. The years have been good to him. His hair is still shaggy, only now a little lighter; his face is tan and covered in a beard that makes his crystal blue eyes stand out even more. My eyes travel from his face to his torso, which is covered in a dark green thermal that shows off the muscles of his arms, chest, and tapered waist, then down to his denim-covered thighs. When my gaze sweeps back up, his eyes are on me, and I see them crinkle in confusion then realization that soon turns into anger.
“You missed the liquor store,” my mom complains as I speed up.
“We can stop on the way back through town,” I assure her, willing my heartbeat to calm down.
“Or we can go to the bar on the way home.”
I know I said I would do anything to make my mom happy until I have to let her go, but there is no way in hell I’m going to a bar, not in this town. “I promise I’ll get you alcohol before we go home,” I mutter, pulling up in front of the small, metal trailer with four large picnic tables out front, all painted a checkered red and white. As soon as I put the car in park, I get out and inhale a deep breath. This town is too small, and I was fooling myself thinking I wouldn’t see Austin while I was here. I’m sure the rumor mill has already started. That’s the thing about small towns: everyone knows everyone’s business, and me coming home after so many years is sure to be big news.
“Are you okay, honey?”
I look across the roof of my car at my mom and plaster a fake smile on my face, one I’m hoping I’ve somehow perfected over the last few hours and say, “Just hungry,” before slamming my door and walking around the hood of my car. I take her arm and lead her up to the window, where we order hamburgers then sit outside at one of the picni
Chapter 2
Lea
“Morning, honey,” my mom greets me as I walk into the kitchen.
“Morning.” I walk over to the kitchen table and take a seat then watch in a daze as she turns over bacon in a pan then places eggs on the griddle. “Are you expecting an army?” I ask, watching as she adds pancakes to a large platter that is already overflowing.
“Rhonda called me this morning. Ben’s going out on an opener, and she doesn’t want to sit at home alone all day, so she’s coming for breakfast¸ and then we’re going to check out the new yarn and craft store that opened up in town.
“How long have she and Ben been together?” I ask curiously. In high school, Ben was the typical guy. He was always dating someone new, and Rhonda was very sweet but shy, and kept to herself or the few friends she had. I don’t even remember them talking back then.
“Going on about five years, I think. She went away to college, and when she came back to town, they just hit it off and were inseparable.”
“I’m happy for them. She was always nice, and Ben was a good guy.”
“Ben adores her, and yes, she is. She reminds me a lot of you, actually.”
“Really?”
“Yes, she’s been very good to me when I’m home, always helping me with anything I need, or just coming over to visit.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” I whisper, feeling guilty.
“You have nothing to be sorry for. You know I’ve loved going out to Montana to visit you. It’s nice to get away for a few months every now and then; plus, you had your own life to live. It’s not as if I never saw you.”
“I know. It’s just…I wish I hadn’t been so far away or that I could have gotten here sooner than I did.”
“Ken’s a dick.”
“Mom,” I sigh.
“No,” she points the spatula at me, “he’s a self-centered asshole who thinks the world revolves around him. What happened between the two of you is not your fault. And the way he acted when he found out you were coming here to stay was deplorable.”
She was right about that. When I told him I had to leave to take care of my mom, he told me I needed to stay until we separated all of our assets. I hated him for that; it was already hard enough being in the same town as him and his girlfriend, but him making it hard for me to leave when my mom needed me showed me a side of him I didn’t even know existed. “There’s a lot you don’t know.” I try but don’t even know why I bother she’s right about him, but I have always felt like I could have tried harder or been a better wife which I know is stupid.
“I know more than enough,” she states, and before I can reply, there’s a knock on the back door, and Rhonda pokes her head inside through the crack.
“Hey.” She smiles when she sees me sitting at the table.
“Hi.” I smile back, feeling awkward. It’s not her that makes me uncomfortable; it’s what happened with Ben on the ferry that I can’t get out of my head. I hate feeling judged by anyone, and I know Ben has probably talked to her about everything that went on fifteen years ago.
“Take a seat before you topple over,” my mom says in greeting, making Rhonda laugh as she goes to the fridge, opening it up.
“Sorry about Ben,” she says softly, and I pull my eyes from my mom who is pulling out a bottle of syrup to look at her. “He shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”
“It’s okay,” I reply just as softly, not wanting my mom to know what happened, I don’t want her to worry about me right now.
“What are you two whispering about?” Mom cuts in, setting a plate in front of each of us.
“I was telling Rhonda that I hope she is hungry, since you seem to have cooked for twelve instead of three,” I lie, and Rhonda laughs again placing her hand on her stomach.
“I’m eating for two, and since this little guy seems to be taking after his father, you could even say I’m eating for three.”
“How far along are you?” I ask as my hand itches to reach out and touch her stomach.
“Just about seven months.”
“Holy cow,” I breathe. Her stomach is already huge, so I can only imagine how she will look when she’s full term.
“I know.” She nods. “I keep telling Ben that he’s having the next one. I had no idea that I was going to blow up like a whale.” She smiles.
“You look beautiful, pregnancy looks good on you.” I tell her softly.
“I can’t wait till he gets here so I can hold him,” my mom says, and pain slices through me. I have always wanted children, and if by some chance I find a man to have a family with one day, I won’t be able to share any of that with her. She will never hold her grandchildren; she won’t even be there to lean on when I have questions or concerns about being a mom.
“Sorry, I’ll be right back,” I excuse myself from the table and go to the bathroom. The second I’m behind the closed door, I burst into silent tears. I have no idea how I’m going to make it through this time. She thinks we’re lucky to know she’s dying, but I feel like it’s so much worse this way. Now all I can think about is everything she will be missing out on, everything I will be missing out on without her. If she just were to have passed away suddenly, I would be forced to accept what happened and try to move on. With this situation, I feel stuck. There is no moving on, because I’m waiting for the inevitable to happen.
All my mom wants is for me to be happy, and I wish more than anything that I could say I am, that I don’t feel like I am dying inside, like I’m not constantly fighting just to take a breath.
“Honey, breakfast is getting cold,” she calls through the bathroom door.
“Coming,” I call back then turn on the faucet to splash some cold water on my face, dry off with a towel, and then go back into the kitchen, where Rhonda and Mom are huddled together talking quietly.
“So, your mom was telling me you’re an accountant,” Rhonda says as I take a seat, placing a pancake on my plate.
“I am. It’s boring to most people, but I have always loved numbers, so I enjoy it. What about you? What do you do?”
“I’m a registered nurse. Here in town, I do private care. I actually have my own company, and have three girls who work for me.”
“That’s amazing. What kind of care do you do?” I ask.
“We help some of the elderly in town who can’t make it to their doctors, and we also do hospice care if it’s needed,” she says, and I can’t help but turn my head from her to look at my mom, knowing there may come a time when she’ll need to be placed in hospice. I’m actually relieved to learn there is someone in town who could take care of her, that she won’t need to be moved from the house, and that I won’t be on my own when the time comes. But I’m a little surprised that my mom never mentioned Rhonda before yesterday considering her job and how close they seemed.
“I’ve been looking for a new accountant since Larry retired a couple months ago,” she says, bringing me out of my thoughts.
“I can help you out until you find someone.” It would be good to work while I’m here, and luckily, accounting is something you can do from anywhere; you don’t need much more than a computer.
“That would be perfect, and if you decide to say in town, I know a lot of people who are looking for help.”
That is one thing about living on a small island in Alaska: there is normally only one person for each job, and if that person decides to leave, you’re screwed, unless another person with the same profession moves into town.
“Just think, you could open your own office in town. I’m sure Larry would sell you his space if you asked,” my mom says, sounding excited at the idea, so I smile, even though on the inside I begin to feel sick. After my mom is gone, I have no idea what I’m going to do or where I will go. The house Ken and I owned in Montana is set to close
“I’ll think about it,” I tell her, watching as she gives Rhonda’s hand a squeeze.
*
“My baby shower is next weekend, and I would love it if you were to come with your mom,” Rhonda says as we walk into the yarn and craft store.
“I would love to go.” I lie not wanting to hurt her feelings.
“Hey, Rhonda.” I turn my head, coming face-to-face with a beautiful, willowy blonde, and it registers she’s the woman I saw wrapped around Austin as he held the door open for her at the bar. I can see what Austin would find appealing about her. She’s almost as tall as he is, where I’m at least a foot shorter. Her body is shaped to perfection, where mine is full of curves from eating a little too much chocolate.
“Hi, Anna,” Rhonda says, but I can hear a slight annoyance in her tone, and I wonder what that’s about.
“You must be Lea,” the woman named Anna says, and her eyes sweep over me from head to toe, making me thankful I took a little extra time in getting ready and didn’t just put on the first pair of jeans I found. I had on a pair of black corduroy pants that flared at the ankle, a cream scoop-neck sweater, cream boots that were casual but still sexy, and my puffy black vest that was just perfect for the Alaskan spring weather.
“I didn’t know you were in town,” Rhonda says, and Anna’s gaze moves to her.
“Austin asked me to come for a few days.” She shrugs casually.
“Anna’s a flight attendant. She lives in Anchorage,” Rhonda informs me, and I look from Anna to her then back again and smile, because there is nothing else for me to do. I have no right to feel jealous that this woman is spending time with Austin. He hasn’t been mine for a very long time. Not that it does anything to stop the feeling from creeping up on me.
“It must be nice to travel all the time,” I say then look around to see where my mom disappeared to praying that she will come save me.