As I Breathe (One Breath at a Time: Book 2) (11 page)

It sucked for me that my dad didn’t actually insist on St. Augustine as our final vacation destination; he left the final decision up to my mom, which typically ended up working in his favor.

My father was good; he was coy in that he never put demands on my mother. I mean, he knew how to persuade her, and she always caved in to his grappling, in part because he never ordered her to do anything. Of course, how could she not give in to him on these terms? He was a smart man. When he pouted, kissed her feet, literally, flashed his squinty brown puppy dog eyes—I overheard her calling them bedroom eyes—eww, and then kissed her—ass-k me no more questions—is the best way to put it, my mother always sided with him.

My dad was a great guy. He was a professor at NYU who taught business science and math. Ugh! Neither one of these classes were among my favorite subjects. All of the students at the college seemed to genuinely like my dad, and as a result, he was very involved with mentoring the students. In fact, he was so involved with the school that we had a foreign exchange student live with us for two semesters. Her name was Milan. She was an extremely curvy Italian girl, with large hips, big bosoms and a sweet face, a native of Rome. I liked her enough. My dad had a strong influence on her career decision. She became a certified public accountant, boring. To my knowledge, my mother and Milan still keep in touch.

Once on my way to visit my dad on his lunch hour, I fell victim to one of my eavesdropping moments. I spied on some unsuspecting debutants in the thick of a giggle fest. The girls had no idea I was there, and it was one of those times in my life where I knew what it felt like to be a ghost.

“Mr. Eden is so dreamy...it sucks that I hate math, but I will grin and
bare
it”—she winked—“as long as I can stare at his fabulous ass all day,” the tall skinny blonde remarked, then guffawed.

“
Me too, he’s so hot. Hey, can you believe the size of his hands.” The big-busted redheaded girl said with a raspy southern accent and a lurid expression splayed on her face. “Can ya’ll imagine? You know what they say about large hands...don’t ya’ll?”

“
What’s that?” The brunette asked, clearly dumbfounded by the old wives tale.

“
Big hands, big gloves.” Miss Redheaded raised her brows suggestively and grinned. “And you know what that means...?” The redhead girl burst into the most annoying laughter. The other two girls blushed and giggled, too. I rolled my eyes and snarled.

Are they really that superficial? Sluts!

I was mortified they were so casually conversing about the size of my dad’s large hands and referencing them to his male anatomy.
Yuck.
Most definitely, this was not a subject any daughter would want to overhear about her father.

I could admit my dad was incredibly handsome, but eww! Apparently, he stirred the imagination of a few girls—as I’m sure he did my mother’s curiosity at one time, too. But really I didn’t want to think about my dad in this way.

Too bad for those tramps—at the time that was how I saw them—they could daydream all they wanted to, but receiving my father’s physical attention would never become their reality.

Despite what I had overheard, I wasn’t concerned that my dad would be disloyal to my mother. They were so in love and as far as I was concerned, they always would be.

I wanted to punch those girls in their faces, especially the redheaded southern belle with her not so subtle twang. Her laughter sounded like a donkey’s bray.

Needless to say, we didn’t end up going to Ft. Lauderdale beach, or any beach for spring break. However, that trip came years later, more specifically five years later. My parents didn’t tag along on this trip, and because of that, it was so worth the wait.

-7-

No Say in the Matter!

I thought I would die a slow death when the decision was final; we would be going to St. Augustine. After all, my dad explained majority rules. Not only were we going to St. Augustine, we were also taking a road trip to get there. I couldn’t believe my ears.

Were they serious about a road trip? They had to be kidding me. Where were our first-class tickets on a major airline?

In the end, my dream plane tickets simply didn’t exist and instead, I was going to be stuck in the backseat of my grandmother’s Suburban. She opted to stay home at the last minute. Lucky her! The whole situation just didn’t seem fair.

I felt as if I was trapped in one of those Chevy Chase
National Lampoon Vacation
movies. I loathed the entire trip. My dad stopped at every rest area along the way, which equated to Spring Break suicide for me. Mom begged me not to spoil the trip for all of us. She pleaded for me to put a smile on my face. As much as I loved my mother and wanted to make her happy, my misery made that hard to do.

I opted out and slept for most of the drive down to Florida. The oversized, dark sunglasses plastered over my eyes helped to hide my tears. They nearly covered my entire face. Did I mention the fact that I also get incredibly carsick? It happened four times on the drive down.

When we finally arrived at the bed and breakfast that my father booked for us called The Powder House Inn, I was relieved to get out of the car. My mother called the place quaint, but in my eyes the whole town reeked of boredom. I wished I had stayed home in lieu of staying in this musty looking shack.

Who takes their children to a bed and breakfast?

“You are going to love this place, Brielle.” My mother nearly sang the words while Dad and a young, cute male valet retrieved the suitcases from the car.

“
Don’t count on it, Mom. It looks like Granny’s attic to me...boring,” I hissed.

“
Oh, c’mon...let’s go inside and take a look at our rooms.” She reached to take my hand and I jerked back, refusing to be treated like a child. She wistfully padded up the steps to the wraparound porch. “Isn’t this a lovely setting?”

“
It’s okay, I guess. A view of the beach would have been much better,” I retorted.

“
Brielle, please try to be happy,” my mother discreetly whispered to me. “It’s only seven days. Next year, we will go to the beach. I promise.” I tried to look amused for her sake. Besides, when my mother made a promise to me, I could count on her keeping it.

So far, so good, but far from the beach. White wicker furniture lined the porch. It looked like a few tables were set for afternoon tea. The fresh cut flowers in the center of each table added a nice touch.

“Mom, this is going to kill me. If you love me, you wouldn’t...” My voice trailed off when I noticed the biggest black cat I had ever seen circling my legs.

“
Dad said this place used to store all of the gunpowder that the soldiers used at a nearby fort. We’re going there tomorrow to check it out.” My mother trilled enthusiastically. I was sure she was faking it. “Don’t you think that will be cool, Brielle?”

“
Yeah Mom, this is all really fascinating to me...” My tone was dripping with sarcasm. As I stroked down the plush fur on the cat’s back, I pretended to be interested in my mother’s plans.

I cannot stay here for a week…someone, find one of those old guns and shoot me!

Just then, a short chubby lady burst through the door. Her hair stacked high in a bun with perfect shaped tendrils hanging down her back. She was dressed as if she’d just stepped out of the past. When she approached us, I could detect a cloud of bacon, eggs and the sweet scent of waffles. It was obvious she liked to cook…and eat. Her body looked like a little squatting cherub, but her face resembled a cute little elf: big blue eyes, pudgy wide cheeks and pointy chin.

My eyes did a quick up and down over her yellow floor length gown, cinched in at the waist by a brown leather corset, strangling her thick waistline. Overall she seemed meticulously put together. Until my eyes dropped to her feet. Peeping out from beneath her ruffled hemline she wore bright orange flip-flops with plastic daisy appliqués on them. I grimaced when I saw her fat dirty toes with blue—
blue
chipped nail polish. God, who was I back then, Joan Rivers in the making?

“
Welcome—welcome. I am Lady Tara, your hostess with the mostest.” She flashed us a little impish grin and her face crinkled like an old leather purse when she spoke.

“
Thank you,” my mother replied. “We are the Eden family.”

“
Of course you are...you are Brandy,”—she turned to me—“and you must be, Brianna.”

“
Brielle,” I corrected her politely, biting my tongue. My mom eyed me, probably holding her breath worried that I may flip out on her any second. Going through puberty wasn’t easy. My moods swung like an out of control pendulum back then.

“
That’s what I said, Brielle. Such a pretty young lady. Your father asked me to give you one of my best rooms—fit for a princess.” Her eyes scanned me up and down. “He was right, you do resemble Sleeping Beauty.” Her voice bubbled over with excitement.

I wish…you could put me to sleep for the next seven days. I thought inwardly.

“Thank you,” I said reluctantly.

“
Let me show you two around.” Lady Tara bustled around behind us, motioning that we go ahead of her.

Mom opened the screen door and glanced over her shoulder toward Dad. He was trying to keep Brett from chasing after a stray dog while struggling to get our luggage from the trunk.

Good luck, Dad. I thought.

The cute valet boy did not seem to be providing any help to my father. He just stood there staring at me as if I was from another planet; maybe I looked as if I was. After being in the car for two days, I felt scaly and in need of a bath. So far, he was the only real one of interest around here that caught my attention.

“Mitchell, do you need any help from us?” My mother called to him. He glanced up at her and waved us on inside.

“
They’ll be fine.” Lady Tara the innkeeper laughed heartily. “Men have the brawns, and we got the brains, the beauty and everything else to boot. So, I think they can handle the suitcases.”

I thought her comment was kind of feministic; especially since she was supposed to have stepped out of the past. At least that was the character she was dressed like. As for her beauty, in my humble opinion, well let me just say, it was not on the surface. I questioned where it might be. Perhaps, it was lying dormant on the inside.

In the reflection of the window, I could see by the grimace on my mother’s face that we shared the same opinion about Tara. She was over the top and bossy. My mother and I thought alike about things such as this. Of course, she would never admit it; she was too nice for that. I, on the other hand, didn’t care what anyone thought about me back then, and as a result my filter had sprung a leak. It was time to bite my tongue again. As much as I knew I should filter my spoken thoughts, it was nearly impossible to hold back my words.

Hey lady, if my mother wants to help my dad, let her. I silently reamed her out.

Tara scurried us through the parlor area, which looked pleasant enough.

“
Would you care for some lemonade and cookies?” Tara asked.

“
No thanks,” my mother and I said in tandem.

“
They’re homemade; I made them myself...they’re a very special recipe.” Tara beamed as she shoved a cookie into her mouth. “I think you both should have one—or more. You two need to fatten up. After all, men don’t like rail-thin women. You need to have curves, girls.” She wiggled her hips.

“
Curves
...really?” I grabbed a cookie.

“
My special cookies will put curves in the right places. Forget surgery,” Tara said convincingly. “Here, you can afford two.” She eyed my bosoms.

Her generosity could have been mistaken as an insult, but I didn’t care. God knows I needed more curves in the right places.

“I hope you’re right,” I replied, biting into the second cookie. My mother’s eyes shifted to Tara then back toward me, raising a single brow, donning a skeptical smile. I knew what she was thinking. Nonetheless, I quickly grabbed two more cookies.

Yes, Mom, I want big boobs.”

“Both of you are bone thin.” Tara picked up several more cookies and put them in our hands. “Eat, I promise in a few days you will see the difference, they’re good, right?”

“
Mmm, pretty good,” I mumbled between bites of her magic cookies, hoping I would not live to regret eating them.

If I had been honest, the cookies were the best I had ever tasted. Beyond delicious. I supposed if I changed my attitude Tara might share her curve-producing recipe with my mom. We walked, talked and ate cookies as she led us up a beautifully polished wooden staircase.

My parents set me up in my own private room; named, “Queen Ann’s Lace.”

The second the innkeeper opened the door to my room, my eyes widened, my heart leapt and a wide smile traversed across my face, totally wiping away my bad mood.

The room was a dream, complete with Victorian ambiance and expressions from another era. The room boasted an attached balcony. It was very romantic. I wanted to hate the accommodations, without much thought my determination to be miserable rose in me.

“
It’s not what I expected,” I sarcastically announced. See, no filter.

“
You don’t like the room?” Tara asked me, frowning.

I muttered rudely, “It’s okay.”

“Brielle, please.” My mother glared at me. “I’m sorry. She’s having a bad day. It was a long ride down and she was terribly carsick. Don’t worry, she will love the room after she gets out of these crumpled clothes and has a chance to settle in,”—My mother pressed the back of my shirt down—“once she freshens up, all will be fine.” She smiled, excusing my cross behavior to Tara. “Why don’t we leave Brielle here to look around, and you can show me our room next.”

They backed out of the room and closed the door behind them. I could hear their laughter through the walls.

My parents stayed in a beautiful room called
Memories,
although I didn’t know how they were going to make any memories with my little brother sleeping on a rollout bed in their room.

Looking back, I realized that they had sacrificed any chance for romance on this trip just for my sake. They tried their best to make me like the place and to get me to enjoy the vacation.

When finally alone, I scanned the room, shrugged and jumped on the bed.

“
Yes, peace and quiet,” I said out loud. The long drive down really did wear me out.

I sighed heavily. “Alone,” I moaned to myself, No friends, and stuck here for seven days with my bratty brother and my boring parents. I wondered where Storm had drifted off to. I had no idea. He was probably off on a long sabbatical the minute he heard we were going to St Augustine. Who could blame him? Just like me, I’m sure he didn’t want to be trapped in St. Augustine. More than likely, he was probably at the beach soaking up the sun in someone else’s warm head.
Thanks, Voice
.

My eyes fell to the French doors that lead outside. For one long minute, I contemplated throwing myself over the balcony but, luckily, I thought twice about it. It was
not
a long way down, and with my luck I would break my neck and end up paralyzed, becoming even more of a burden to my parents. Either way, it wasn’t worth the pain or the risk.

Reluctantly, I decided to surrender to the fairytale setting with its opulent “fit for a princess” Queen Anne’s lace canopy bed that was perfect for kicking back and watching TV. I even had a huge soaking tub in my own private bathroom. As much as I hated to admit it, maybe the room wasn’t so bad. At the very least, it was far better than the pullout sofa in my parent’s room.

There was a knock on the door.
Who could that be?
I wondered. Of course, it was only my dad and Brett with my luggage. Who else?

“
Here’s your share of the load. Change for lunch and meet us down stairs in the parlor”—he flashed at his watch—“in one hour.”

“
Dad, my plan was to order pizza and watch Direct TV for seven days straight,” I pouted. He warned me, not so much with his words but more with his look: if that was my plan then Brett would have to sleep in my room for the duration of our stay.

I glared down at Brett, his little hands were greasy, and he had Tara’s chocolate chip cookies smeared all over his face. I took a few deep breaths while I considered my options. Smell alert.
What stinks?
Clear the building. The stench of wet dog filled my nostrils. It was radiating off of my brother.
No thanks.
One whiff of Brett, and I nipped my bad attitude in the bud.. I made sure that I wasn’t even one minute late meeting my family down in the quaint little parlor.

-8-

Touched!

Perusing through dark and musty old museums was not my idea of a chillin’ spring break. Believe it or not! Between my parents, Brett, and the smell of the horse’s shit burning two more holes in my nose, I wanted to scream. My parents insisted on traveling via horse and buggy for our cultural experience. They claimed they wanted to experience what it was like to travel back in those days. This kind of thing thrilled them, but to me it was another boring, hokey tourist attraction gimmick that took forever to get from place to place. I was feeling suffocated by the whole experience. Literally! I needed room to breathe. While my family was busy buying trinkets in a gift shop, I left them to their own vices. Certainly they would not notice I was gone.

I exited the gift shop and wandered across the street into what was deemed to be the oldest schoolhouse in the United States. Even though there wasn’t a tour guide on duty, I took the liberty of going inside. After all, the door was wide open.

Alone inside, I found myself observing the antique furnishings and marveling at how much smaller the delicate pieces were in comparison to modern furniture.

It’s well documented that people from this time period were also much shorter than people are presently. This made me consider that evolution was probable. Ponce de Leon, the man who searched for the fountain of youth, was barely five foot two, and at fifteen years old I was already five-six. Perhaps there was something to the notion.

While I wandered around, I was remarkably drawn to the nostalgic relics from long ago. I closed my eyes and imagined what it would’ve been like to attend the little schoolhouse. No computers, calculators, or hot lunches—that seemed almost wrong.

Suddenly, I felt a light touch as if someone’s fingers traced down the side of my bare arm from directly behind me. I pivoted in a circle, quickly scanning the small room. A spine tingling energy, the kind that makes the hairs stand straight up on the back of your neck like porcupine quills, raced across my skin. Cold chills ran the length of me, even in the cracks of my body. I was acutely aware of an otherworldly presence, which had to have been a ghost. With no other corporeal being in sight, who else could have touched me?

My heart rate accelerated, and in one swift movement, I bolted through the little room, burst through the screened door and leapt off the porch. I stumbled over my two left feet and right into what I felt like a warm brick wall, but turned out to be the chest of a male tour guide.

He was handsome and, perhaps, five to seven years older than me. He had dark hair hanging down into his contrasting light green eyes. What a dreamy combination, I thought, more stunned by his looks than the impact.

I couldn’t think straight nor could I stand straight either. I was simply flabbergasted and tongue-tied. His long fingers enfolded the tops of my shoulders and saved me from falling over. My legs felt like deflated balloons, and I was pretty sure it was not the near fall that caused me to feel weak in the knees.

“
You are as white as a sheet. You look like you just saw a ghost.” He teased, with mock chivalry. “Never fear, I am here.”

“
I...oh my God...it—something...touched...me...here,” I panted, showing him the place on the back of my arm. Talk about an embarrassing moment; I felt my face turning ten shades of red. My entire body felt electrified, and I stuttered—mouth gaping open, my breath scared out of me, I twisted out of his secure grip and quickly ran to find my parents, leaving him behind with a bemused expression on his exquisite face.