Hold My Breath (20 page)

“Is there something you can take?” I ask. His body shakes once, a short breath escaping him in a sad laugh. Right. One year sober.

“Will, Dylan’s up! Should we get his things out to the car first? I can get him in the small chair,” Tanya calls from the other end of the house. Will’s eyes rise to meet mine, and the sheer helplessness reflected in them seizes my chest, and I gasp once, tears threatening my eyes.

I breathe in deeply, letting my eyes fall closed for a moment while I search for courage. Not to do something my heart desperately wants to do, but to let go of the hate that’s keeping me from doing what’s right.

“Sounds good, Tanya. Will’s finishing up the dishes for you, so I’ll come in to help,” I holler back. My response snaps Will out of his haze, and he starts to stand and push away from me.

“No, no…I’m fine,” he says.

I ignore him and pull my phone from my pocket, searching for flights quickly.

“American? Southwest?” I ask.

His hands cover mine, but I fight him off this time, stepping back and holding one palm up while my thumb slides over the screen.

“Maddy, this…none of this, is your responsibility,” he says, shaking his head, and I stop with my thumb on the purchase button, looking him right in the eyes.

“It isn’t yours either,” I argue, my breath catching as it hits me. None of this—me, Evan, Tanya, Dylan, and all the damn ghosts—is Will’s responsibility. He chose to carry it. He inserted himself where a blank space was left, and he’s been holding worlds together for people when he had every right to walk away.

My thumb falls against my phone, and I hold it up, swallowing.

“I hope it was Southwest,” I whisper, a little stunned at the realization of what a mixture of spontaneity and panic can make someone do. “I am probably going to need to borrow some money, too. And…shit…clothes.”

Will moves to me swiftly, his hands reaching up but not sure where to touch. There’s the barrier between us that came the moment Evan’s story unraveled, but I feel like it shifted—just a little.

“Call them, Maddy. Cancel that. I’ll suck it up. I’ll be fine. It’s just a plane ride,” he says, but that fear is there still. I see it. “Please, Maddy. Don’t take this on.”

“If you see the big suitcase in the living room, just bring it to the first door on the right!” Tanya yells.

My eyes are locked on Will’s, a silent battle, each of us trying to save the other. But he doesn’t see what I see—a man whose soul is so tired that it may not have much fight left in it. My mouth opens to speak seconds before I actually do, and I wait in a sort of verbal limbo, convincing myself past those last few uncertainties.

“Got it!” I respond finally, stepping away from Will slowly, his eyes following my path.

I can feel Will behind me, but I push forward as if I’ve always been a part of this, as if I was supposed to show up here all along and make this trip with them. My hand grabs the handle of the only suitcase in the room, and I roll it along behind me, stopping at the door on the right. Will pauses a few feet short of the doorway, and I glance to see him standing with both of his arms stretched out, his palms flat on opposite hallway walls and his head low.

“That’s the one! Thanks, Maddy,” Tanya says, pulling my attention away from Will.

Inside the small room is a hospital bed with rails and monitoring devices, most of them shut off minus one that beeps periodically. A frail boy with brown hair and crystal-blue eyes struggles on the edge of the bed, his fingers curved awkwardly around one of the bedrails while his other arm hugs tightly around Tanya’s neck. His legs bend in such a way that I know walking is not possible, and as Tanya lifts him against her, struggling by herself to line him up with his chair, I can’t help but flash forward to a time when Dylan is twice this size.

“There,” Tanya breathes out, stretching her back and tugging out the band from her hair, refastening it to tuck away loose ends that Dylan pulled out when his fingers grabbed at her. “Step one of about sixty-eight-hundred,” she laughs.

I laugh lightly with her, but only for show. My eyes are captivated by the young ones that struggle to meet mine a few feet away. There is so much that is tragic and difficult, and my heart breaks seeing this glimpse of Dylan’s battle, but it also beats at everything that is familiar. Evan is there. He’s right there, even though he’s not here for any of this. I grab at my chest, and when Tanya’s back is to me, I turn to see Will—still standing with his arms stretched out. His eyes were waiting for me, and the moment our gazes lock, I understand why he didn’t want me to get this far in. It hurts too much—
too much Evan.

“He doesn’t speak, other than a few sounds and
almost
words he’s been getting out in therapy, so he probably won’t be able to say your name, but he’ll recognize you,” Tanya says, catching my attention back in the room. I step forward, closer to her and her son—
Evan’s son.
She presses his hand between both of hers and squeezes, and the sensation seems to soothe him, his head shifting from side-to-side while he hums and smiles.

“Dylan, this is a friend of Uncle Will’s. Her name is Maddy,” she says.

Dylan’s head bobs twice and a sound escapes him, almost a yell, but the words are incoherent. His eyes cross paths with mine a few times, and it feels like I’m being painted with his happiness, more cooing sounds escaping his chest as he brings his other hand forward to clap with both of his mom’s.

She nods to me, so I step closer and place mine on top of hers so Dylan can touch me. His hand grazes mine a few times, his fingers almost curling around mine once, unable to hold on for more than a blip of a second. The feel of it forces a smile to my face, and when I look up into Tanya’s eyes, she’s smiling, too.

“I hope it’s okay, Dylan, but I’m making this trip with you,” I say, glancing from him to Tanya, her eyes growing wide and her smile growing. “I thought you could all use another hand.”

When her gaze moves beyond me, to the door, I know that Will has moved from his place in the hallway. I glance over my shoulder, and his eyes meet mine in an instant, speaking nothing but silent apologies.

“I tried to tell her she didn’t have to go,” he says.

“Yeah, don’t feel obligated, Maddy. We’re grateful for the lift to the airport…”

“I want to,” I interject, turning back to Tanya just before standing and sliding my hands away from Dylan’s fragile hold. “I’d really like to help, and I can make up my time. My dad will understand.”

Tanya glances to Will for approval, and I turn to face him as well. His focus shifts between us, and his resolve weakens just enough.

“He won’t understand at all, but to hell if I can talk you out of something once your mind is made,” he relents.

“He will, but you’re right about one thing…” I say, moving to the doorway and sliding through, my arm grazing his chest as I pass. “You can’t talk me into or out of anything, Will Hollister.”

I leave him with Tanya to finish getting Dylan packed and ready for our trip, and I take over finishing the dishes in the kitchen. I cry hard, but I don’t make a single sound, and I don’t turn my face away from the sink until I know every last puffy, red piece of evidence has been erased.

When we get the car packed, I slide into the passenger seat next to Will and call my father’s number. When he answers, I tell him I’m going with Will to help. I tell him it’s important, and when he asks for the details, I tell him I can’t share any. He’s livid, but he’s also my daddy. I promise him a new record at the meet next week, and that seems to lighten his mood enough that when I hang up I’m left with only one heavy burden on my heart.

Will’s hand rests on the gearshift between us, and without thinking, I thread my fingers through his. His mouth opens and a small breath escapes. It’s nothing grand, but that small sound cuts deep. He’s breaking himself trying to save so many people, but nobody has ever stepped up to save him.

I’m not sure I’m strong enough to, either. But I can sure as hell get him through the next few hours, in the air—in his worst nightmare.

* * *

W
ith every step forward
, I want to take six back. I want to run. I’ve never wanted to run more.

My counselor, after the DUI, told me that I was probably experiencing a panic attack when I drove into that tree. I didn’t know what he meant because, well, Jack Daniels does a damn good job of erasing the symptoms of a panic attack. But I’m sober now, and this—
this
is definitely a panic attack.

Everywhere I look, the earth is shaking. Just a little. The colors are brighter, and my forehead will not stop sweating. I can barely focus enough to find my way to the group of seats just outside our gate. Maddy took the lead, checking us all in, loading the luggage, and getting the boarding passes. As difficult as it is to travel with Dylan, his medical condition makes some things easier. We went through a special security area, which meant that there was more time to scrutinize things—
scrutinize me.
For a while, I thought they were going to pull me into a room and test my urine because I look like I’m in withdrawals.

“When you have a panic attack, you will feel like you are dying.” That one line from some state-mandated substance-abuse counselor, whose name and face I hardly remember, is ingrained in my mind. He could not have been more accurate.

“Can I get you some water? Or maybe just an aspirin, or something to chew on?” Maddy has been doting on me the entire way to the airport, through security, and to these chairs that I just want to curl up in. I hate that I have become the burden for this trip. We’re all supposed to be here for Dylan, but he’s been a champ. I have been a massive pain in the ass.

“I don’t know, maybe…I guess. No water. I don’t want to have to get up as soon as I’m buckled in. But maybe gum? Or candy?” I feel like I want to throw up, but I have to give Maddy something to do. She looks defeated, and I don’t like her looking at me like I’m a lost cause.

“Got it. I’ll get a little of everything. I’ve already drained my savings, so this goes on credit,” she says through a laugh. “You want me to call Duncan, too?”

“No, I can handle that,” I say, sliding my phone into my palm.

I watch her walk away a few steps and I let myself succumb to the shiver that’s been building in my spine. Before she gets very far, though, Maddy spins around and rushes back to me, slipping into the seat next to me and throwing her arms around me. Her head falls onto my shoulder as she squeezes me tightly, and I hold my breath the entire time.

“It’s going to be okay,” she says into the small space where her mouth rests against my neck. I want to believe her. I choose to believe her.

I nod a few times and force my mouth into a smile. It’s thin and it doesn’t hold up for long, but I think maybe it’s more than I could have given her five minutes ago, so that’s progress.

With Maddy in the store and Tanya and Dylan resting at the seating area right next to our gate, I pull my phone into my palm and call my uncle. After a few rings, he answers, his voice calm and the reassurances already scripted and spilling from his mouth.

“Will, I’m so glad you called before takeoff. How’s the airport? Busy? I heard it was a busy travel day,” he starts immediately.

It’s a Thursday—an uneventful, midsummer weekday—our flight isn’t even full. My uncle is full of shit, but I love him for his effort.

“It’s fine, listen…something’s come up,” I say.

“Will, you can do this. It’s just like our flight from Michigan,” he interrupts.

“No, that’s not it. I’m getting on the plane. It’s a different issue,” I say, pulling my hand up to pinch the bridge of my nose. “Maddy insisted on coming.”

I can practically hear my uncle’s smile.

“She shouldn’t have, so stop celebrating,” I say.

“I’m not celebrating,” he chuckles.

“Sure you aren’t,” I say.

“Okay, maybe a little. And why shouldn’t she have? She’s a grown woman, and I’m sure Tanya could use the extra help,” he says. “You wouldn’t let me come, so think of it as if she’s taking my place.”

“Right…because you and Maddy are so similar,” I laugh out.

“She got you to the gate, didn’t she?” he says. I pull my mouth up on one side, rubbing my palm along my cheek as I nod.

“Yeah,” I breathe.

He’s right. My uncle and Maddy are the only two people who have been able to get me this far when it comes to airports. Granted, my flight to Indiana with my uncle also included a near arrest, when I threatened to walk off the plane as we were taxiing, and a close-up view of a Taser from a TSA agent. My uncle assured them I would be fine, and then he proceeded to beg me to “keep my shit together” for the entire hour flight. We almost came to blows a dozen times. I hope Maddy’s really up for this.

“So where’s the car?” my uncle asks.

“It’s in hourly parking, on the north end. I’m sorry, I know you hate driving on the highways,” I say.

“Bahhhh, no problem. I have the extra key, and I’ll Uber there and take surface streets back,” he says.

That trip will take him twice as long.

“I’m really sorry,” I say, meaning it. I feel like I need to say it to everyone…for lots of things.

“Don’t be. Just use this time wisely. Maybe man up, too, and tell that girl all of those things you’ve been holding on to for way too long,” he says.

I breathe in through my nose and slightly regret the confessions I’ve made to this old man. He’s the only rock I have, though. And I’ve needed a good rock.

“Maybe,” I say.

“Chicken shit,” he says, coughing with his laugh as he hangs up the phone.

As if she knew we were talking about her, Maddy slides into the seat next to me the second I put my phone back in my pocket, a smirk on her face and a slant to her eyes that she only gets when she’s planning on pranking someone or leaving them in the dust in a race.

“What’s that look for?” I lean away and twist in my chair, my guard up, but my pulse slowing a little more.

She turns to face me, bringing one knee up, then plops a plastic bag in her lap from the gift shop she just ducked into, her hands diving into the plastic and concealing whatever’s inside. Her grin grows, and she raises her eyebrows once before unveiling her big surprise.

“Pop Rocks!” she says emphatically. I’m not sure how to react, so I end up bunching my shoulders to my ears and raising my eyebrows to match hers. Her smile deflates a little.

“Sorry,” I say, taking the grape packet from her hands and tearing the edge open. “You’re trying. I’m grateful.”

“No, it’s okay. I just saw them at the counter, and it reminded me of that time when we were working the snack bar at the club.”

I stop with the packet at my lips and laugh at the memory she triggers.

“They came out through Evan’s nose,” I chuckle.

“He was so upset,” she says, pouring a handful into her palm. Her eyes connect with mine, and we both begin to count down from three.

I tilt my head and fill my mouth with the purple candies while Maddy pushes her palm to her lips and eats the red ones. Seconds later, we both stare at one another with open mouths, listening to the crackle, smiling as if I weren’t about to climb aboard my literal death trap and she weren’t about to see me at my worst. Our lips twitch while be both stifle our laughter, and eventually Maddy gives in, closing her mouth and shaking her head.

“These are truly awful,” she says, her mouth bending with bitterness as she swallows them and reaches into the plastic bag for a bottle of water, twisting the lid and gulping down nearly half to wash the taste away.

“I think they’re one of those things where the memory is better than the reality,” I say, swallowing mine. My words bring her eyes to mine, and her smile softens.

My gaze falls to her arm, and without pause, I reach out for her hand. She gives hers back willingly, and I thread our fingers together, reminding myself repeatedly not to grip so hard that I break her.

“We should get to the gate. We’ll board first,” I say.

Her hand squeezes mine, and when I look up, she’s waiting for me. It’s quiet for a few seconds, and I can feel my pulse picking up speed again. Maddy’s hand squeezes again.

“Okay,” she says.

I wish I felt okay.

* * *

* * *

W
e’re
twenty minutes into the flight and I think we might get kicked out—midair.

The attendant keeps
checking in.
That’s the word choice she keeps using. Just “checking in on you.” I watch her have panicked conversations with the male flight attendant on the other side of the partition, then plaster that fake smile on her face and kneel next to me, as if Will can’t hear every word she says about “my friend who seems to be in distress.”

He’s convulsing in sweats, and when he’s not looking down at the focus point—aka the stain I found on the floor between his feet—he’s wringing his hands, darting his eyes side to side, and reaching for the in-flight magazine so he can roll it repeatedly. The last time our “friend” came to check on us, she tried to take the magazine away. I think she thought he was making a weapon.

That conversation is happening again, and I see her eyes on the magazine in Will’s hands. He’s twisting so hard that the spine is starting to split open, so I reach under my seat for my purse, ready to fish out five dollars from my wallet so I can tell air bitch that I am buying the damn thing so if my friend wants to turn it into papier mâché, he can if he wants to.

Her fake smile is waiting for me when I tilt my head back up, but I’m done playing this game with her.

“Hi again,” she says—in an accent that I swear to God is fake. She isn’t from the South. I bet she went to some workshop once where they told her that if you say something in a Southern accent it doesn’t sound as mean. It’s actually true, only I’ve grown numb to her Southern charm and see right through it—right to the core of her cruel intentions.

“Our lead attendant,” she stops to gesture over her shoulder to the male attendant cowering behind the partition a few feet away. He raises a hand.
Weakling
. “He has informed me that we are supposed to place severely ill or distressed passengers near the rear of the plane, or, if no seats are available, in the back jump seats with one of us. For safety reasons, I’m sure you understand…”

“No, I don’t,” I interrupt. I make sure to close my lips and smile. For once, I wish I wore a bright red lip gloss just like she does.

“Your friend here…”

“His name is Will,” I interrupt again. I smile…again.

“Right, well,
Will
…”

I can feel Will staring at me, so I turn to him. He looks like he wants to vomit, and I think he’s pleading for me not to make a scene, but I know that if I roll over now, they’ll take him away from me and put him in the back, or they’ll make us both move. And while Dylan is happy now, I know that, too, might not last. I turn the other way, my eyes catching Tanya’s before moving a tick to the right, to the ones growing more impatient with me.

“Sandra,” I say, taking a cue from her name badge. She glowers when I say her name. Careful to keep my voice low and calm, I smile again, though I’m sure she can tell it’s disingenuous. “Have you ever survived a plane crash?”