Just Breathe Trilogy Box Set (3 page)

“Holy crap, Jared!” I blurt out in sheer astonishment.

“Yeah?!” he hesitantly replies.

“No. Seriously,” I exclaim. In shock, then awe and joyous appreciation for the man, I squeal in excitement, “You are a genius!”

“Oh, stop it!” he counters, trying to seem bashfully innocent and humble.

I glare at him with a devilish smile to his response, suggesting that I know what he’s doing, but pleased with his brilliance. “We can incorporate the pet section into the third quarter easily. We can hire a few more people to handle it under your direction.”

“Sweet!” he shouts with enthusiasm. “Looks like I should be getting a bonus at the end of the year,” he says teasingly.

“I’ll throw in a night at your favorite strip club if it goes the way I’m envisioning it in my head,” I toy with him with a sense of half truth.

“Mmmm . . . You sure know how to please a man,” he replies, winking at me with a dirty grin. We both snicker like school girls for a moment before turning back to the project at hand.

Happy with our successful meeting and my true love and gratitude for my friend, I tell him, “I love you, Jared.”

He looks at me quizzically for a second. Not sure where I’m going with this suddenly serious tone. He tries to brush it off lightly joking around, “Yeah, yeah. I know. I love you too,
Sex Kitten
.”

“No. I’m serious.”

He rarely sees the serious and openly emotional side of me, let alone the fact that I don’t say those three words loosely to just anyone or in just any context. Appreciatively and affectionately, I smile and repeat myself, “I love you.”

Respectfully, he pauses to take in this still unaccustomed moment. Jared, genuinely grateful for the moment, smiles and replies back, “I love you too, Emma.” He leans over to embrace me.

We sit, reassuring each other for several minutes and start cracking up when Sadie decides to wedge herself between our arms and onto our laps. Sadie never misses a beat.

We continue hashing out the details for the third quarter’s targets to include the pet division while sipping on tea and coffee. I leave Jared to his now coherent and animated concentration to fix him some breakfast. Surprisingly, I can hear his stomach grumble in protest to his second cup of coffee in demand for more sustenance.

A few hours later, content with our goals and objectives, we resolve to bring our business meeting to an end. Any in-person meetings after this will be brief to just review the progress of what’s scheduled and the testing of any new products that have arrived, unless it’s to just get together and hang out.

“I need to check the P.O. Box for deliveries,” Jared admits. “I completely forgot to before coming here.”

“That’s fine. You were here really early,” I reply, letting him off the hook.

He did come over much earlier than regular, two hours earlier.

“How about we check after going out for some lunch?” I suggest.

His eyes gleam with elation. Grinning and pleased, Jared puts his notes and iPad into his bag.

Before we head out the door, I turn off the music streaming from the Baroque classical music playlist on my computer that has been playing since just before I got into the shower. I am disappointed to hear my favorite song, Suite for Cello No. One in G Major by Johann Sebastian Bach, start playing. I almost hesitate to turn it off, but both Jared and I are hungry and need to get out.

If I were musically inclined, I would have learned cello or violin, but alas, I am not blessed with the ability to play. I can dance and follow any beat. Jared and I have taken dances lessons for practically every style of music, but my creative gifts and abilities are the visual arts. Though I can’t play an instrument, I have always been able to pick up tones and notes, which help greatly with the variety of languages I speak other than English.

My parents wanted the best for me. They never forced their views, religious beliefs or their particularly desired topics of study. They made learning a game, and I loved it. Though we were never able to travel internationally, we wanted to learn as many languages as possible. Before the accident, I spoke fluent English, Spanish and French, and had four months into learning Mandarin. Each day of the week we would speak only in one dialect regardless if we stayed home all day or went out. It was funny to see people’s faces when we spoke in a different language. We got the most looks when we spoke Spanish or Mandarin, but we didn’t care.

“Where do you want to eat?” Jared asks as I pick up my purse, keys and hook Sadie’s leash onto her collar.

“What are you in the mood for?” I answer with another question.

“Well . . .” he pauses for a second to decide.

Jared knows not to go back and forth with me on asking each other. It could take an hour before he caves in and chooses a place. I always win. As much as I like control, I know I’d be content with any restaurant he chooses.

“I want to go to Stinky Pete’s.”

Noticing his devilish smile, designed to get a specific response from me, I simply smile and nod.

“You sure?” he inquires, trying to get me to break.

“Sure. If that’s where you want to eat,” I reply with a relaxed grin.

He will not break me.

“You're no fun,” he jokingly whines and sticks his tongue at me as I walk closer to him. “Besides, you know I can’t stand their food either.”

I smirk as he surrenders easily in defeat.

“Let’s have Indian. What was the place we went to last time?” Jared questions.

“Akbar?”

“Yep. That’s the one. I loved that place. I think it’s my favorite Indian restaurant in town.” He closes the door behind Sadie and me.

Though most places in Pasadena have outdoor seating, which is used the majority of the year, Akbar does not. The restaurant is on a side road off Colorado Boulevard which makes dining there more quiet and less distracting. With Jared as the main face of Naturally Me, we occasionally get interrupted at meals, especially if we are dining outside and he’s not wearing sunglasses or a hat. My first name and face are used for the business as well, but I try to minimize how much my photo is posted. I don’t enjoy being in the public eye as much. By bringing Sadie onboard, that may change.

Since we’re bringing Sadie along for lunch, I grab her service dog vest to grant her access into the restaurant. Sadie is not a full-time service dog, but I did have her trained and certified so she can go anywhere with me. With the vest on, Sadie is accepted everywhere.

For our meal, Jared and I share several of my favorite dishes from Akbar. Since he can’t remember what he had the last time, he asks me to order. Knowing he’s hungry, that he can pile a fascinating amount of food into his belly, and that we have the rest of the day to enjoy each other’s company, I chose to order a full three course meal.

To start, we treat our taste buds to samosa, mixed green katchumber and the kas-ke-badamjan. Jared rinses his food down with a glass of water and mango lassi. I just have water. About five minutes after we finish the appetizers, our waiter delivers us tandoori salmon, tandoori chicken, vegetable bhuna and a side of rice suffused with saffron. Jared takes photos of each dish with his cell phone and even has me take a few pictures of him posing to post on his social media for all his adoring fans to view.

As we eat, our conversation bounces around a myriad of topics, mostly memories of glorious excursions we’ve had together and many of them that included Maggie. We recount our clubbing days in WeHo and all the weird and eclectic types of people who would hit on all three of us. Jared would be hit on by every gay man, whereas Maggie and I would get hit on by the women. Maggie and I never minded being hit on by other women. We felt safe around them compared to men, especially me.

A fear of men, heterosexual men, came from my last night in New Jersey. After the accident, the State arranged for me to go into foster care once I was released from the hospital. I didn’t have any family other than my parents; they were orphans too. I was in a daze when the whole process began. Eight days after waking up in the hospital, I was turned over to state custody. I would have been handed over sooner, but they were monitoring me to make sure I wasn’t a danger to myself anymore. I was placed with a husband and wife who already had two foster girls. Brittany was seven and her sister, Leslie, was five. The State was apparently so bogged down with foster kids, that they weren’t as picky with foster parents as they should have been. I had to share a room with the two girls. They slept in one bed and I slept in the other. Though I already was a high school graduate, the State and the foster parents insisted that I attend public school. I just figured they didn’t really want to bother with me. The teachers were nice, but I was bored and depressed.

Two weeks into living with the foster family, I started taking care of Brittany and Leslie. Dean and Amber, the foster parents, if you can even call them that, wouldn’t really bother with me or the girls. They both drank, were unemployed, watched TV the majority of the day, unless they went out, and it was clear that they were living off of the foster care money. I wondered if the social worker who placed me with them knew that Brittany and Leslie needed me.

I had stopped talking since the day I woke up in the hospital, but that didn’t seem to hinder me assuming a motherly role for the two girls. They were young, sweet and never a handful. Since I wasn’t really sleeping either, and I was up before the girls from the nightmares, it was easy to make sure they were dressed and fed before walking them to the elementary school which was right across the street from the high school. At the end of each school day, they would wait for me until my school was over. We’d walk home, do homework, and then I’d take them out to play for an hour before going inside to cook dinner. The brutal cold winter weather was much more palpable than the storms of Amber and Dean. After dinner, we’d play some more in our bedroom before I got them bathed and ready for bed. Since I didn’t speak, the girls would pretend to read books and describe a different adventure each night from the pictures. They were even able to make me smile a few times.

Our daily morning and evening routine for the week spilled over into the weekends. I would take the girls out of the house for the whole day to avoid the foster parents’ drunken fits and rages, which occurred daily. We didn’t have any money, but we always had fun everywhere we went. I was determined to distract them and myself from the miserable house we lived in. Since the foster house was a brick row home in Hoboken, we did have some nearby places to go to other than the park when the days were too cold from the winter gloom. We’d venture around town going to the local bookstore and some of the shops on the block. One of the restaurant owners would invite us in to rest, warm up and even started giving the girls and myself food every time we visited. The owner, Martin, was even nice enough to invite us to the Christmas and New Year’s feasts he and his wife would host in their home above the restaurant. I made sure we attended. It was a pleasant distraction. They even gave the girls and me a few gifts, mostly clothing, but we accepted graciously.

On one particularly dreary day, towards the end of January, Dean saw us in Martin’s restaurant from across the street. He was picking up his weekly secret ration of liquor that he hid from Amber — I knew where he hid it. Spotting us in the window, he stormed into the restaurant shouting and cursing. Dean accused me of stealing money and sneaking the food we were eating as he grabbed me by my still injured right arm just below my shoulder — when I was released from the hospital, I never received any further care for my injuries. One of the restaurant staff members quickly ran to get the owner.

Martin intervened by placing himself between Dean and me. “She didn’t steal money from you, Dean!” Martin shouted loud enough to make his point to Dean while trying not to scare Brittany and Leslie. “Get out of my restaurant. You are not welcome here. The girls are, but you aren’t.” Martin nodded to Conor who was behind the counter and Conor picked up the phone.

“Don’t you tell me what to do,” Dean’s mouth slurred.

“I gave the girls the food. Let them be and go home,” Martin insisted, taking a step closer to Dean.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Dean blurted out with a breath that reeked of whiskey that I could smell even six feet away.

“This is my restaurant. Get out before I call the cops,” Martin demanded.

“Fine, but they’re coming with me,” Dean barked as he reached to grab Leslie’s left forearm, but Martin blocked him.

“No. I’ll bring them home later after they are finished and you’ve calmed down,” Martin sternly commanded.

Dean glared at Martin with rage. Suddenly, Dean went to strike him, but missed as Martin easily moved out of the way, causing Dean to fall to the floor.

I wondered if he saw the punch coming.

“That’s it . . .” Dean muttered as he tried to stand up straight several times. He repeated his attempts to strike Martin; each time Martin ducked and Dean fell.

The police station wasn’t far, so the police arrived just after one of the times Dean got to his feet, still stumbling from intoxication.

Once the police removed Dean, the girls huddled on my lap. Martin and Conor cooperated with the police and gave statements. The police tried to get me to talk, but Martin told them that I was mute. So instead, they just asked questions and I nodded or shook my head.

The girls and I finished eating slowly out of complete amazement and shock of what had just occurred. I cringed at the thought of what would happen when we got back to the house that evening. I prayed that they would keep Dean locked up until morning.

When Martin and his wife, Celia, dropped the girls and me off at the house, they parked the car and followed us in. The house was dark and empty. They hugged us goodbye and Celia gave me their phone number just in case anything should happen. I nodded my understanding and appreciation.

I picked up Brittany and Leslie and carried them upstairs. I knew they were exhausted and scared from what had happened with Dean, so I only had them change into their pajamas. Instead of tucking them into their bed, I climbed in and gestured for them to join me. I sat up against the wall as Brittany and Leslie fell asleep with their heads on the pillow I had placed across my lap. Nervous about Dean’s state when he finally comes home, my eyes stared unblinking at the wall across the room.

The need to leave was evident — good thing I never really unpacked my stuff from my two bags when I first arrived. Once the girls were asleep, I quickly and quietly snuck out of their bed. I stuffed the rest of my things into one of the bags and took them both to the backyard. I strapped one to the front of the bike and left the other one on the ground next to it. It would be on my back when I was ready to leave. Then, I returned to girls. I couldn’t just leave them home alone without any adult supervision, but I was scared.

The sound of a door being slammed roused me and my head jerked up. I blinked my eyes rapidly to clear them as I listened. I slowly crept off of the bed, trying not to stir the girls, but desperate to know who had arrived. I tipped toed to the door and cracked it open slightly. I heard Amber mumble something and my heart settled a little.

As I turned after shutting the door quietly, time stood still as a roaring sound got closer. Dean’s boots stomped up the stairs as he took them two at a time — I’ve seen him do it a number of times to know the echo.

“What the hell, Dean?” Amber shouted after him.

The door swung open just missing my back by a few inches, and before I was able to turn all the way around, his cold, rough hand was around my neck. My feet lifted slightly off the floor as he propelled my body into the bookcase behind me on the wall and held me there. My eyes, wide with fright, got even wider when the girls screamed in terror. Deans right arm hooked and caught me in my stomach. I clawed at his hand on my neck, gasping for air. Brittany suddenly jumped at his free hand as he swung back to give another excruciating blow. He flicked her off his arm like she was an ant, and during that brief moment of distraction, I was able to clip him in his groin with my right knee. Dean slumped to the floor wailing in pain.

Still gasping for air, I saw Amber standing in the doorway frozen and watching. I stumbled to Brittany to help her up when one of Dean’s hands seized my right ankle and yanked it, swiping my feet out from under me. I fell onto my still injured right shoulder with a thunderous sound, just missing Brittany by an inch or two. The pain in my right arm subsided, most likely due to the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins, as I quickly rolled and shoved my left foot into Dean’s face.

I ran to the doorway and shoved Amber out of the way. She was still standing frozen like a statue. I stumbled downstairs to get the phone. Before dialing, my eyes were drawn to Amber’s body that thudded heavily down the stairs followed by Dean staggering in delight. My eyes searched for things to throw at him as I pressed 9-1-1-send. I tossed the phone towards Amber’s limp body at the base of the stairs just as Dean lurched for the wrist of that hand. Suddenly, pain exploded in my head. I was on my back on the floor. Dean towered over me and my eyes flickered to see Brittany grabbing the phone from behind him. Good, he didn’t see her.

“You fucking bitch!” Dean howled at me. “You fucking bitch! I’m going to fucking kill you.” Dean hovered over me as I tried to shake the dizziness from my aching head. We locked eyes and my body froze at the expression on his face. “But first . . .” a sinister voice oozed from his mouth. “I’m going to have a little fun with you.”

As he lowered his body over mine, I scrambled to get away and kicked furiously at him, almost clipping him in his manhood again, but he deflected my attempts. He pinned both of my hands above my head with such force that I felt the rug burning my skin. I screamed out in horror.

“That’s it. Scream. Fight. It will make this all that more enjoyable,” he growled his intent.

Trying to unbuckle his pants in his drunken stupor — Dean must have refueled himself after Amber bailed him out of jail — my left arm broke free and I jabbed my thumb into Dean’s right eye. He yelped in pain as both of his hands shot to his eye. Feeling me scurry away, he swung his left arm as he tried to focus and find me with his only good eye. I swiftly kicked him again in the groin and down he went.

I took a few steps back to give myself distance from him as I plotted my next attack. Brittany caught my attention and nodded, waving to the phone as she and Leslie embraced each other. I nodded back. She pointed to the closet at Amber’s back and my eyes lit up, remembering the baseball bat.

I grabbed the bat and handed the girls their coats and boots as I escorted them to the front door. I unlocked it for them to leave, but turned around abruptly when I heard Dean trying to crawl at us.

“Get back here, you bitch!” he grumbled,

I raised the wooden club above my head, poised to whip it down into the side of his skull.

“Emma?” Leslie uttered meekly.

I looked back pained, realizing that Brittany and Leslie were still in the house. Lowering the bat, I thrusted my foot into the side of Dean’s head. He was out cold after that.

Compelled by a vengeful thought, I went over to Dean’s hidden liquor stash and found eight bottles of whiskey, five bottles of tequila, and four and a half bottles of vodka along with several boxes of cigarettes. Dean doesn’t smoke — I never saw him and never smelled it. Picking up one of the boxes, I was surprised to see wads of money stuffed in them. I opened one box all the way and it was packed full of one hundred dollar bills. I took all of the loose cigarette boxes and a full carton that were hidden at the bottom.

I rushed back to the girls who were still standing in the front door while Dean and Amber lay unmoving. Without saying a word, the girls knew my intentions and hugged me. I could hear the police cars in the distance and knew the clock was ticking for me to get away. I gave Brittany four of the six packs of money along with a piece of paper. Brittany hung up the phone on the police dispatch. I punched in the number for Martin and Celia and held it to her head.

“Martin,” she said confirming more than questioning as the phone rang on the other end.

I nodded.

We embraced and for the first time since the accident I spoke, “Take care of each other.” They sobbed as I led them out front before I turned to leave; they probably knew we would never see each other again.

I snuck out the back to my bike after grabbing my coat from the closet. I hoped that the police would handle the situation at the house for the next few hours and not bother looking for me right away. With pain seeping back into my bones, I rode to the Hoboken train station, got on the arriving shuttle and rode it to Union City station near the home I grew up in. The neighborhood was dark and motionless at four o’clock in the morning and an empty feeling crept into my heart.

My house was lifeless when I found the spare key under the back step and unlocked the door to let myself in. Nothing had changed. Nothing had moved. The State hadn’t done anything to it yet. Thank God.

I went into the house only to collect a few things. I knew that I couldn’t stay. My eyes remained dry the entire time as I went throughout the house grabbing what I needed and wanted. I switched out some clothing, grabbed some non-perishable food from the kitchen and opened the safe my parents had hidden in the wall of the closet at the top of the stairs that no one would be able to find — unless you knew to look. The safe was there for emergencies. This was an emergency.

My parents weren’t rich, but they were smart and they made sure to pass that on to me. There was ten thousand dollars cash, our social security cards, birth certificates, and even passports that we never got to use. I grabbed it all before fastening it closed again.