Breathe (5 page)

color, she got to name him, and he played whatever games she wanted, unlike her

two brothers. The qualifications for the best friend of a five-year-old met. And

despite Lincoln"s absence, Jessica still looked like she loved Mr. Wuzzie.

“You slept a lot,” she said.

Lincoln glanced at the clock. Almost noon. The longest night"s sleep he"d had

since he left for the Grant County Justice Center—hell, since a year ago to the day.

Thanks to the whiskey.

As if to mock him, Jessica"s tiny feet hit the paper sack as she came closer to

the bed. The whiskey bottles clanked inside the bag. She glanced at what she had

run into, but it didn"t slow her down. She bounced onto the bed and sat beside him,

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Sloan Parker

her legs straight out in a replica of his posture, the soles of her feet lined up next to

his legs midthigh.

She laid Mr. Wuzzie on her lap and pointed to the tattoo on Lincoln"s left

upper arm. “Your wolf was running while you slept.”

“Yeah?”

“Your arms were all twitchy.”

“Guess I was dreaming.”

“Musta been a bad dream. You weren"t smiling.” She stared up at him with

big, brown eyes. Nancy"s eyes.

“How come you"re not at school? I thought kindergarten was all day.”

She wiggled her toes and watched them move. “I was sick.”

“You don"t look sick.”

“I got better.”

“Uh-huh.”

He had to strain to hear her next words. “It was a bad night.” She picked up

Mr. Wuzzie and gave him a squeeze. Out of fear? Or thanks?

“But you"re okay now?” he asked.

“Yep. Mom said you"d drive me to school if I got ready.”

“She did?”

Jessica nodded, looking up at him again, her brown eyes wide. “She said you

got a job interview after lunch, and my school"s on your way. Is it lunchtime?”

“I guess. Go get ready.”

She hopped off the bed. “Mom left the keys to your truck on the table.” She

spun around and ran out of the room, Mr. Wuzzie"s head smacking the side of her

leg as she went.

Lincoln let his head fall back to the headboard behind him. “Shit.”

Not thinking about it was best. He"d wait to see what happened when he got

behind the wheel again.

* * *

Jay didn"t want to encourage his mom. He kept his forehead plastered to the

car window beside him and said nothing.

“What"s that?” Todd asked.

Leave it to his brother.

She turned to face them in the backseat, her eyes squinted into slits like Todd

was thirteen and had forgotten to take out the trash for the third week in a row.

“They"re letting him drive.”

Breathe

21

“The man has to work,” Jay said. His mom ignored him or perhaps didn"t hear.

His voice had taken on that low whisper it did whenever he verbally disagreed with

one of his parents.

She said, “It makes me want to follow him around with a warning sign. He

should have to register like those sex offenders do. So everyone knows who"s driving

around their neighborhoods—around their children.”

“We"re here,” his dad called out, his voice louder than usual. Maybe he was

tired of listening to her too.

Jay blew out a huff of air that fogged the window, blocking the sea of

headstones and monuments. Who knew he"d be relieved to arrive at the Pleasant

Valley Cemetery—which was neither a valley nor pleasant. The foils of advertising.

Todd rolled his eyes after their mom exited the car. What would it be like to

make the trip without his brother?

The Shaws pulled in behind them, and the group began their journey along the

same path they always followed. Thirty-two headstones south. A few mentions of

“that damn Lincoln McCaw” mixed in with the sound of crunching snow under their

feet. Turn left at the stone marked
Victor Donnelly
, a WWII veteran
gone, but not

forgotten
by his wife and three sons with the epitaph,
the acts of this life are the

destiny of the next
. Five more stones east and stop under the thirty-foot-tall black

oak tree. And just how did they keep from digging into the ruts each time they

opened a new grave nearby? Jay never had the nerve to ask that question. His mom

would faint at the mere mention of grave digging.

The large oak had provided welcome shade on the summer days when they"d

made the trek. Now, the bare, lifeless branches taunted Jay, reminding him why

they had come.

The choice of cemetery hadn"t been a decision left to him. The Shaws granted

him the uncomplicated ones like the shoes Katie should wear—and only after Emily

had picked the dress, which left a single appropriate pair of shoes—and if he

wanted his name as Jay or Jacob in the obituary. He"d gone with Jacob, though he"d

regretted it later. Katie had never called him that. Only his mom did.

The one decision he had spoken up on…the wedding ring. Her parents had

wanted Katie buried with it. Jay had wanted it with him.

Standing in the cemetery one year later, he reached for the two simple gold

bands—all he could afford at nineteen—hanging on a chain around his neck and

slid them on and off the tip of his index finger, moving the bands as one.

He"d taken his own ring off and put it on the chain with Katie"s the day they"d

buried her. His mom had given him a look of horror when she saw he wasn"t

wearing it anymore. She hadn"t bothered to ask him why. He hadn"t done what she

expected, and that was all that mattered to her.

The group stood in a semicircle around the grave. Jay kept to his usual

distance—a step behind the parents—Todd at his side, and fidgeted with the collar

of his shirt. Damn thing was too tight. His mom had bought it for him when he was

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Sloan Parker

sixteen. He"d have worn something else, but all he had were T-shirts and jeans. His

mom never would"ve gone for that. The only suit, dress shirt, and tie he"d owned as

an adult were the ones he"d worn a year ago for the funeral, and he"d thrown those

in the trash the minute he"d gotten home.

Jay hadn"t had so much as a sports coat before then. Todd had purchased the

suit for him and brought it to Jay"s house the morning of the visitation.

“So young,” his mom said. She knelt on the ground and dropped a hand to the

snow-covered grave. Why? It wasn"t like Katie could feel her touch. “So unfair,” she

added. “What was she doing out so late all alone?” The same question she always

asked.

Jay sucked in a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut. Emily slipped her

arm around his waist, but he pulled away from her and kept his back to his family.

He pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes until he was certain he wouldn"t cry.

He would not shed one tear. Not in front of them.

* * *

Jessica sat beside Lincoln in his pickup, her tiny form looking frail in the large

cab. A pink and white Hello Kitty backpack was draped across her lap and her

yellow winter boots dangled over the edge of the bench. The booster seat raised her

several inches, but the seat belt still crossed her too close to her neck for his

comfort.

When he didn"t answer, she added, “Ain"t you gonna try it?”

“I guess.” He turned the ignition key, and the truck roared to life. Had the

engine always sounded that loud? He gripped the top of the steering wheel with

both hands. The custom wheel cover had cost a fortune, but at the time, it had

mattered that his truck felt similar to his race car. The hubris of one who hadn"t

become a killer.

When his knuckles turned white, he eased up on the grip. The shaking in his

hands had nothing to do with wanting a drink, but it—and the thirst—had a lot to

do with the fear of “what ifs” a man like him could never escape.

He cut the engine and clicked the release on her seat belt. “We"re walking.”

Jessica smiled. “Okay.” She tossed her backpack aside, opened her door, and

disappeared behind the side of the vehicle. Her hand returned a moment later as

she groped onto the seat for her backpack. Lincoln shoved it within her reach, and

she lugged it out the open door.

He exited the truck and joined her on the sidewalk where she fumbled with a

twisted strap. He helped her unwind it and slid the pack off her shoulders. “I"ll

carry it.”

They walked two blocks in silence. As they rounded a corner, she slipped on an

icy section of the walk, and he grasped her hand to steady her. When she was

Breathe

23

walking with a firm step, she made no attempt to remove her hand from his, and

that suited him fine.

“Uncle Lincoln?”

“Yeah.”

“Ain"t you gonna live with Uncle Paul no more?”

“No.”

“Can I still call him Uncle Paul?” She jumped to avoid a pile of snow, leaning

her weight into his hand.

Lincoln stopped and looked down at her. “Didn"t your mom—oh hell, you

probably won"t see him again.”

“Oh.” She breathed deep.

“Do you need me to carry you?”

“Nope. We"re almost there.” She tugged on his hand, and they walked side by

side again.

“You got your inhaler with you?” What the hell was he thinking making her

walk? Tomorrow he"d get behind the fucking wheel and actually drive. Of course he

was limited to driving for work, and if the interview didn"t go well today, he"d have

nowhere to go.

“Yep,” she said. “But it"s almost empty.”

He pulled her to a stop and knelt on one knee beside her, his skin growing cold

under his jeans. “Did you tell your mom?”

“Uh-huh. I have to go to the doctor for more.”

Doctors. Prescriptions. He
had
to get this job.

Jessica stared at him. “Your wolf might be running again. Your arms are all

twitchy.” She touched her hand to his leather jacket over the spot where the eagle

feather and wolf tattoo decorated his biceps.

“He"ll calm down.”

“Probably just wants to run around now that he"s free. I bet he didn"t like the

jail.”

Lincoln chuckled. “Yeah, kid. He didn"t.” He stood and took her hand in his.

* * *

want to see his family there with him.

A sparrow flew low and landed in the branches of the tree overhead. What had

he heard about sparrows? Something about symbolizing true love and finding your

way home. He watched the bird until it flew away, not missing the cosmic joke as

the sparrow faded in the distance.

A sharp breeze shook the ice-covered branches of the oak tree above them. The

creaking gave the impression that all the branches were headed for the gatherers

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Sloan Parker

below.
Mourning family impaled by icy tree limbs
. How often did someone die

standing over another"s grave?

The thought of Katie buried beneath all that earth, alone in her casket,

sickened him. He wanted to remember her as she deserved him to. Remember the

first time he"d met her. Their high school prom. Their wedding day. The last time

he"d seen her… No. He never let himself think of that day. Not for any reason.

Stuart Shaw"s words cut through the silence. “If they had charged him with

vehicular homicide, he"d have done more time.”

Here we go again.

“That"s usually when the person"s been drinking,” Todd said.

Stuart threw him an incredulous look. “He murdered my daughter.”

Emily Shaw let out a gasp. Jay"s mom went to her, and the women hugged.

Was the mutual comforting because of the reason they stood in the cemetery? Or

the justice and vengeance the courts had robbed them of one year ago?

Jay focused on the tree branches, trying desperately to cling to something,

anything other than the voices that surrounded him.

A half hour later, when the group finally separated, returning to their cars, he

stayed behind and uttered the words, “I love you.” A sweet, flowery scent filled the

air. The only flowers nearby weren"t growing in the ground. They were the attempts

of the bereaved to bring life to the cemetery.

Jay turned away before a complete emotional meltdown kept him from leaving.

He lingered during the solitary walk to his parents" car.

It was identical to every other time. No matter who spoke, not matter what

was said, no one mentioned his wife"s name.

“Ready?” his dad asked from where he leaned against the side of the car, his

dress shoes covered in snow, his breath visible in the air. “The Shaws aren"t coming

to dinner this time, so it"ll just be the four of us.”

Perhaps the Shaws had grown tired of spending time with Jay"s family. Too

bad he"d missed their departure. Maybe he could"ve caught a ride.

Todd opened the door for Jay and whispered, “They really hate that man.”