Catch My Breath (28 page)

Returning to the bedroom, I crawled under the blankets. The notification light blinked in all its green glory. A crushing sense of loss crippled me. The phone slipped out of my fingers and landed on the blankets with a soft thud. Rubbing the pain in my chest, I hoped it would relocate somewhere more manageable, like my little toe. Damn thing was stubborn and wouldn’t budge.

Reaching for the phone, I woke it up to look at the home screen. My fingers trembled as I slid open the message bar.

To: Amelia Meyers <
[email protected]
>

From: Alastair Holden

Subject:

I just want to make sure you’ve arrived home safely. Please let me know.

Alastair

I tossed the phone onto the nightstand.
Why does he care?
Angry tears bullied their way down my cheeks, landing in hot pools on the pillow. He told me to leave. He said he didn’t want me there. An inferno of grief and emptiness spread through my body. When sleep finally wrestled the last bit of strength out of me, I dreamt of falling leaves.

Morning. Or maybe it was afternoon. Did it really matter? The bright sunlight hurt my eyes. Burying my head under the pillows was a novel idea, but it became uncomfortable after a while. Throwing the blankets off, I stared at the ceiling.

Hangovers had nothing on the discomfort that plagued my body. I was sore, I had a headache, and, oh yeah, a gaping hole in my chest. All the major players were present and accounted for. Glancing at the time I saw it was noon.

The one salvation in all of this was the fact that I didn't have to go back to work until tomorrow. Dealing with the high-octane personalities of the newsroom was something I needed to psych myself up for. The phone rang. I stared at the screen with moderate disinterest.
Christ. My mother.

"Hi, Mom."

"Lia. Are you alright?" Her worried voice cascaded through the phone. "What happened?"

"I'm fine. I just woke up.”

"Your sister is driving me crazy. Have you talked to her yet? She's been calling me non-stop."

"No. I haven't talked to her," I answered, monotone and annoyed. "Tell her I'm fine. I made it home."

My mother’s voice softened. "Lia, honey, we're worried about you. Dayna was beside herself when she called us. What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it. I'm home. That's all that matters."

“Maybe you jumped into a new relationship too soon after Nathan.”

I fought an urge to vomit.

“Is there anything else you needed to talk to me about? I’m home. I’m fine. There’s nothing more to say.”

"I've been at this a lot longer than you have, Amelia.” Her tone sharpened. “Don't let this consume you. Misunderstandings happen. It's what you do in the aftermath that defines the relationship."

I squeezed the phone. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but right now I just want to be left alone."

“You'll figure this out. The heart is very vocal in these matters. Listen to it. Don't be afraid of what it tells you."

"Thanks, Mom. I'll talk to you later."

"I love you, Lia."

"You, too."

I hung up and shuffled into the bathroom. Broken, worn out and exhausted, I splashed cold water on my face and brushed my teeth. Hunger pangs tentatively made their presence known.

Stephanie was sitting on the couch flipping through an issue of Cosmopolitan. She brightened when I appeared.

"Good morning. Or should I say afternoon. Did you sleep alright?"

Biting my tongue against a sarcastic remark, I responded, "As well as can be expected."

"You look a lot better than you did last night."

I shot her an incredulous look.

"Well, I mean you look somewhat rested.” Stephanie fidgeted with the magazine. "There's coffee if you want some."

"Thanks."

"I heard you on the phone. Did your mom call?"

"Yeah."

"I'm glad you finally got to talk to her. She called me when I was on my way to the airport to get you. She’s pretty worried. Dayna is, too. You should probably call her next."

"Not right now. Maybe later."

Stephanie tried a different approach. "I was thinking, if you're up to it, we could go catch a movie today. There's a lot of new stuff out."

I prepared a cup of coffee and sat on the couch with her. Staying in bed all day, curled into a ball under the blankets was much more appealing than showering, getting dressed and being out in public.

"You know what, I don't want to see a movie. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather stay in. Sorry."

“Okay. Just thought I'd throw that out there in case you were up for it." Stephanie sat awkwardly. "So, are you okay?"

I snapped my head up and stared coldly across the room at the wall. "I'm fantastic. Never better."

"I'm sorry, Lia."

The hole in my chest expanded. Immense emptiness spread through the space where my heart should be.

"I can't do this. I can't. It hurts and I miss him."

Never-ending waves of tears and sobs seized me. I surrendered to the insurmountable pain and let it completely take over. It squeezed my chest until I thought I would break. When the tears finally slowed, I sat up and let out a big, shaky sigh.

"God. Look at me. I'm a mess."

"So am I, so am I."

I looked at Stephanie. Her eyes were red and she was wiping her nose. "We make a great pair though.”

“It's like we're starring in our own Lifetime movie. All we need is the sweeping musical score to enhance the mood.”

"Yeah, and the ridiculous title. She Cried, I Cried. Rogue Tears. Hysterical Sadness." Stephanie laughed uncontrollably. I tried to join in, but was only able to muster a few small giggles.

"Thanks for being here, Steph. I'm not the most pleasant person to be around."

"It's all part of the experience, my friend."

The experience. Right. This was an experience I would gladly skip. After wiping away what I hoped would be the last of the tears for at least ten minutes, I grabbed the remote and turned on the television. Stephanie stood up.

"Mind if I hop in the shower?"

"Not at all. Towels are in the closet."

Settling into the couch, I flipped through the channels. Talk shows, soap operas, and of course, the aforementioned Lifetime movies were all that was on. The next best thing was the news. I stopped at CNN to watch the big stories of the day. Politicians bickering, flooding in the Midwest and fires in California topped the headlines.

For a jaded news producer, that was a typical day. As the reporters and talking heads droned on and on about various hot topics, my thoughts wandered.

A flashy graphic caught my attention. There was some big, important news update and it warranted bold graphics and stern music.

"We have an update from London now, where media tycoon Samuel Holden has just been discharged from the hospital. The eighty-five year old collapsed at his home on Monday. Doctors say he suffered from exhaustion and dehydration. Holden left the hospital this morning and is said to be in good spirits."

I stared at the footage, enraptured. Indeed, there was Samuel waving to the cameras and walking toward a waiting vehicle. Behind him were Jason and Paxton. Then, there was Alastair. He was slightly hidden behind his uncle but the cameraman made a point of zooming in on his face. The reporter talked about how he’d just been named CEO and was the heir to the media empire.

He appeared tense and pale. His eyes looked tired as he tried to avoid to media glare. My heart lodged in my throat, beating hard and fast. He had his hands shoved in his pockets and walked slowly to the front passenger door.

"Anything interesting happening on the news?" Stephanie walked back into the living room. She looked at my face, then looked at the television. "Oh my God."

The footage looped back to show Samuel exiting the hospital again.

"I had no idea this was such a big story here,” I admitted sheepishly. “I should have known. He looks so worn out."

"Maybe you shouldn't watch this."

"Why not? Chances are I'll have to write about it at work. May as well desensitize myself to it."

"Do Sydney and all the rest of them know he’s the one you've been seeing?"

“Yeah. That, uh, picture and stuff.”

“Right,” she said, nodding.

The talking heads were very animated as they spoke of the Holden family. Much of their chatter was about Alastair and his new role within the company. The video played over and over as they talked endlessly.

The more I watched it, the more I could pick out subtle things about his expression. His mouth was turned down. His eyes were expressionless and dull. It hurt to see him like that. Mercifully, they finally moved on to another story. I flipped to one of the movie channels. Some nondescript action-adventure flick was already in progress.

"Hey, Steph? Do you know where my carry-on bag is?"

"I put it next to the kitchen table. Do you need something?"

"No. I was just going to unpack a little." Grabbing the bag, I went in the bedroom. I figured it was easier to unpack toiletries than clothes. Stephanie poked her head in the room.

"Do you want a sandwich or anything? I'm going to make a Chik-Fil-A run."

"No, thanks."

"Okay. I'll be back soon."

I unzipped the bag, removing a few styling products. Something tumbled onto the mattress. Without looking, I picked it up. It was small and hard. Confused, I looked down and almost passed out. I was holding a blue box with a white ribbon. I dropped it like it was on fire. It landed on the floor next to the bed. Clutching my chest, I knelt down.
A Tiffany box?

I stared at it.

And stared.

“It’s not going to open itself,” I muttered.

Picking it up with shaky hands, I untied the ribbon and removed the lid. Inside was a white suede box. I took that out and sucked in a breath. I wasn’t ready for what was in there. When did he put this in my bag? We’d been inseparable most of the time. The night we danced in his childhood playroom, maybe? He’d obviously been in my suitcase to get the shoes.
Why not just give it to me?

Sitting on the floor speculating about this box wasn’t going to get it opened any faster. Closing my eyes, I opened it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Wake up.

Shower.

Go to work.

Hide in a bathroom stall and cry.

Go home.

Barely sleep.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

That was my list of things to do each day over the next week. By Friday, I was getting weird looks from my co-workers. Clearly, my attempts at acting normally at work failed. I threw myself into show preparations each day. Nothing too exciting was happening, so I had to settle on stories about car crashes, drug busts and one birth-in-the-breakdown-lane.

“Hey, Lia.”

I hung my head, dreading whatever it was Jeanie wanted.

“Yeah?”

“Do you have any time in the show for a nat-sound piece on that new attraction opening this weekend? You know, the one based on that action-adventure movie with all the pyro?”

Oh good, an easy request. One that she could do on her own by LOOKING AT THE RUNDOWN
.

“We’re a little tight, but if it’s short, like a minute or so, I can sneak it in after weather.”

“Perfect. Thanks.”

I half-smiled, watching her do the slouched-typing-talking thing again.
At least she’s consistent.

"Are you looking forward to Violet’s birthday party tomorrow?” Sydney poked her head around the monitor.

"Absolutely. I hope she’s ready for all the cupcakes I made.”

“Violet and her dad are ready. Her brother just wants to throw her in the pool as a present. Boys,” she shook her head, laughing.

“I’m going to get some water. Want anything?” I asked, standing.

“Nope. Thanks though.”

Going for water was my secret code to myself for sobbing in the bathroom. This time, I did just want water. Raucous laughter floated down the hallway as I made my way back to the newsroom. I returned just in time to see Wesley fall flat on his face trying to catch a frisbee.

Laughter erupted and echoed through the room. Jeanie's scolding put a permanent end to the fun.

"That's enough. You guys are going to break something."

Everyone groaned and went back to their pre-show tasks. I spent the remainder of my shift avoiding my inbox. I had a new message from Alastair waiting for me every night at the same time. My index finger got quite a workout hitting the delete button. The clock ticked down slowly. It was excruciating.

"You're anxious to get out of here." Tyler sidled up and perched himself on the edge of the desk. "What's got you so twitchy?"

"Just looking forward to the weekend.”

"How is it that you've managed to score weekends off and I have to work every other Saturday? I'm always stuck in this prison."

"I have my ways. Besides, you’re the best assignment editor we have. Why let perfection have a day off?”

“Your logic is flattering and infuriating,” he grinned. “Have a good weekend, Lia.”

I walked out into the stifling June night. My goal was to only cry for half of the drive home. Much to my surprise, I didn’t shed one tear.

Little victories.

* * *

"Lia! Lia! Lia!" Sydney's daughter ran down the walk toward me at full speed. She wrapped her small body around my legs. "Are those my cupcakes?"

"Yes, Violet. These are all yours." I laughed, tightening my grip on the plastic container.

"Violet, would you please let Lia go so she can walk into the house?" Sydney waved from the front door.

"Okay, mommy.” She abandoned my legs and grasped my hand. "Come on. We can put those on the table with all my presents."

"I swear she's seven going on twenty." Sydney shook her head. "Everyone's out back by the pool. Feel free to—“

Violet shrieked. "Let's go to the pool.”