Ten Tiny Breaths (2 page)

I shake my head. “That’s not going to happen.
I’m your guardian now, and I don’t care about stupid legal
paperwork. You’re not leaving my side. Besides, Aunt Darla hates
Miami, remember?” Hate is an understatement. Aunt Darla is a
born-again Christian, who spends all of her free time praying and
making sure everyone else is praying or knowing that they should be
praying to avoid Hell, syphilis, and unplanned pregnancy. She’s
certain that major cities are the breeding ground for all evil in
the world. To say she’s fanatical would be an understatement. She
won’t come to Miami unless Jesus himself is holding a
convention.

Livie nods her head. She lowers her voice to
a whisper. “Do you think Uncle Raymond figured out what happened?
We could get in real trouble for that.”

I shrug. “Do you care if he does?” Part of me
wishes I ignored Livie’s pleading and called the cops over Uncle
Raymond’s little “visit” to her room. But Livie didn’t want to deal
with police reports and lawyers and Children’s Aid and we’d
certainly deal with the full gamut. Maybe even the local news.
Neither of us wanted that. We’d had enough of that after the
accident. Who knows what they’d do with Livie, since she’s a minor?
Probably stick her in foster care. They wouldn’t give her to me.
I’ve been classified as “unstable” by too many professional reports
to trust with someone’s life.

So Livie and I struck a deal. I wouldn’t
report him if she left with me. Last night turned out to be the
perfect night to run. Aunt Darla was away at an all-night religious
retreat so I crushed three sleeping pills and dumped them into
Uncle Raymond’s beer after dinner. I can’t believe the idiot took
the glass I poured for him and handed to him so sweetly. I haven’t
said ten words to him in the last two years, since I found out he
lost our inheritance at a black jack table. He didn’t clue in to
the deception though. By seven o’clock, he was sprawled and snoring
on the couch, giving us enough time to grab our suitcases, clean
out his wallet and Aunt Darla’s secret money box under the sink,
and catch the bus out that night. Maybe drugging him and stealing
their money was a little excessive. Then again, maybe Uncle Raymond
shouldn’t have gone all creepy pedophile.

***

“One-twenty-four,” I read the numbers on the
building out loud. “This is it.” This is real. We stand
side-by-side on the sidewalk outside of our new home—a three-story
apartment building on Jackson Drive with white stucco walls and
small windows. It’s a neat-looking place with a beach house feel to
it, though we’re half an hour from the beach. If I inhale deeply, I
can almost catch a whiff of sunscreen and seaweed.

Livie runs a hand through her wild dark mane.
“Where’d you find this place again?”

“www.desperateforanapartment.com?” I joke.
After Livie stormed into my room in tears that night, I knew we
needed out of Grand Rapids. One internet search led to another and
I was emailing the landlord, offering him six months’ of rent in
cash. Two years of pouring over-priced Starbucks coffee, gone.

And it’s worth every drop of coffee
poured.

We climb the steps and walk up to a gated
archway. “The picture with the ad looked great,” I say as I grab
and pull the gate handle to find that it’s locked. “Good
security.”

“Here.” Livie pushes on a cracked, round
doorbell to the right. It makes no sound and I’m sure it’s broken.
I stifle back a yawn as we wait for someone to pass through.

Three minutes later, my hands are cupped
around my mouth and I’m about to yell the landlord’s name when I
hear shoes dragging across concrete. A middle-aged man with rumpled
clothes and a scruffy face appears. His eyes are uneven, he’s
mostly bald on top, and I swear one ear is bigger than the other.
He reminds me of Sloth from that old eighties movie my father made
us watch,
Goonies
. A classic, my dad used to say.

Sloth scratches his protruding gut and says
nothing.
I’ll bet he’s as intelligent as his movie twin.

“Hi, I’m Kacey Cleary,” I introduce myself.
“We’re looking for Mr. Tanner. We’re the new renters from
Michigan.” His shrewd gaze lingers on me for a while, sizing me up.
I silently praise myself for wearing jeans to cover the sizeable
tattoo on my thigh in case
he
dare judge
me
on my
appearance. His focus then shifts to Livie, where it rests too long
for my liking.

“You gals’ sisters?”

“Our matching suitcases give it away?” I
answer before I can stop myself.
Get inside the gates before you
let them know what a smart-ass you can be, Kace.

Luckily, Sloth’s lips curve upward. “Call me
Tanner. This way.”

Livie and I share a shocked look. Sloth is
our new landlord? With a loud clank and creak, he ushers us through
the gate. Almost as an afterthought, he turns to me and extends his
hand.

I freeze, staring at those meaty fingers, but
not moving to take them. How am I unprepared for this?

Livie deftly swoops in and grabs hold of it
with a smile, and I ease back a few steps so there’s no illusion
that I’m having anything to do with this guy’s hand. Or anyone’s
hand. Livie’s great at saving me.

If Tanner notices the maneuver, he says
nothing, leading us through a courtyard with mangy shrubs and
dehydrated plants surrounding a rusted hibachi. “This here’s the
commons.” He waves his hand dismissively. “If you wanna grill, sun
tan, relax, whatever, this here’s the spot.” I take in the
foot-high thistles and desiccated flowers along the borders and
wonder how many people actually find this space relaxing. It could
be nice, if someone tended to it.

“There must be a full moon or something,”
Tanner mutters as we trail behind him toward a row of dark red
doors. Each has a small window next to it and all three floors are
identical.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

“You’re the second apartment I’ve rented this
past week through email. Same situation—desperate for a place,
don’t wanna wait, will pay in cash. Strange. I guess everyone’s got
somethin’ to run from.”

Well. How about that? Maybe Tanner
is
smarter than his movie twin.

“This one here just arrived this morning.” He
thumbs a stubby finger at Apartment 1D before leading us to the
apartment next to it with a gold ‘1C’ sign on it. His huge set of
keys jangles as he searches for one in particular. “Now, I’ll tell
you what I tell all my tenants. I’ve only got one rule but it’s a
deal breaker. Keep thy peace! Don’t be throwin’ no wild parties
with drugs and orgies—”

“Sorry, can you specify—what qualifies as an
orgy in the State of Florida? Are threesomes okay? What if blow ups
are involved, ’cause, you know …” I interject, earning a pause and
a scowl from Tanner and a sharp jab to the shoulder blade from
Livie.

After clearing his throat, he goes on as if I
didn’t speak. “No feuds, family or otherwise. I don’t have patience
for that crap and I’ll boot you out faster than you can lie to me.
Understand?”

I nod and bite my tongue, fighting the urge
to hum the Family Feud theme song as Tanner pushes the door
open.

“Cleaned and painted it myself. It’s not new,
but it should give you what you asked for.”

The apartment’s small and meagerly furnished,
with a green and white tiled kitchenette area lining the back. The
white walls only enhance the hideous puce and orange floral couch.
Cheap forest green carpet and the faint scent of moth balls pulls
together the 70’s white trash look nicely. More importantly, it’s
nothing like the picture in the ad. Surprise, surprise.

Tanner scratches the back of his graying
head. “Not much to it, I know. There are two bedrooms over there
and a bathroom between them. Put in a new toilet last year so …”
His lop-sided gaze shifts to me. “If that’s all …”

He wants his money.
With a tight
smile, I reach into the front pocket of my backpack and slide out a
thick envelope. Livie ventures further into the apartment while I
pay him. Tanner watches her go, biting his lip as if he wants to
say something. “She seems a bit young to be out on her own. Do your
parents know you two are here?”

“Our parents are dead.” It comes out as harsh
as I intend and it does the trick.
Mind your own damn business,
Tanner.

His face turns ashen. “Oh, um, sorry to hear
that.” We stand uncomfortably for all of three seconds. I fold my
hands under my armpits, making it clear that I have no intention of
shaking any hands. When he spins on his heels and heads out the
door, I release a small sigh. He can’t wait to get away from me,
either. Over his shoulder, he hollers, “laundromat’s underground. I
clean it once a week and expect all tenants to help out with
keeping it tidy. I’m in 3F if you need anything.” He disappears,
leaving the key sitting in the lock.

I find Livie investigating the medicine
cabinet in a bathroom made for hobbits. I try to step in but there
isn’t enough room for both of us. “New toilet. Old, repulsive
shower,” I mutter, my foot tracing the grungy, cracked tile
floor.

“I’ll take this room,” Livie offers,
squeezing past me to head to the bedroom on the right. It’s empty
except for a dresser and a twin bed with a peach crocheted spread
over it. Black bars line the single window that faces the exterior
of the building.

“You sure? It’s small.” I know without
looking at the other room that this one is the smaller of the two.
That’s how Livie is. Selfless.

“Yeah. It’s okay. I like small spaces.” She
grins. She’s trying to make the best of it, I can tell.

“Well, when we throw those all-night ragers,
you won’t be able to fit more than three guys in here at once. You
do realize that, right?”

Livie tosses a pillow at me. “Funny.”

My bedroom is the same except it’s slightly
bigger and has a double bed with an ugly-ass green knit blanket. I
sigh, my nose scrunching with disappointment. “Sorry, Livie. This
place looks nothing like the ad. Damn Tanner and his false
advertising.” I tilt my head. “I wonder if we can sue him.”

Livie snorts. “It’s not so bad, Kace.”

“You say that now, but when we’re fighting
roaches for our bread …”

“You? Fighting?
Big
shocker.”

I laugh. Few things make me laugh anymore.
Livie, trying to be sarcastic is one of them. She tries to pull off
airy and cool. She ends up sounding like one of those radio
announcers doing a dramatic rendition of a cheesy murder
mystery.

“This place sucks, Livie. Admit it. But we’re
here and it’s all we can afford right now. Miami’s freakin’
expensive.”

Her hand slides into mine and I squeeze it.
It’s the only one I can handle touching. It’s the only one that
doesn’t feel dead. Sometimes I have a hard time letting it go.
“It’s perfect, Kace. Just a little small and mothbally and green,
but we’re not that far from the beach! That’s really what we
wanted, right?” Livie stretches her arms above her head and groans.
“So, now what?”

“Well, for starters, let’s get you enrolled
in the high school this afternoon so that big brain of yours
doesn’t shrink,” I say, popping open my suitcase to empty its
contents. “After all, when you’re making a bazillion dollars and
curing cancer, you’ll need to send money my way.” I rifle through
my clothes. “I need to enroll at a gym. Then I’ll go see how much
Spam and creamed corn I can buy for an hour with my sweaty, hot
body on the corner.” Livie shakes her head. Sometimes she doesn’t
appreciate my sense of humor. Sometimes I think she wonders if I’m
serious. I stoop to yank the covers from my bed. “And I definitely
need to bleach the shit out of this entire place.”

***

The building’s laundromat beneath our
apartment is nothing to write home about. Panels of fluorescent
lights cast a harsh light over faded robin’s egg blue concrete
floors. A floral scent barely masks the musky odor lingering in the
air. The machines are at least fifteen years old, and they’ll
probably do more damage than good to our clothes. But there’s not a
cob web or a piece of lint anywhere.

I shove all our sheets and blankets into two
machines, cursing the world for making us sleep in secondhand
bedding in the first place.
I’m buying new bedding with my first
pay check
, I commit to myself. Dumping in a mixture of bleach
and detergent, I set the water to its hottest setting, wishing it
was labeled, “boil the hell out of any living organism.” That would
make me feel marginally better.

The machines need six quarters per load. I
hate paid laundry machines. Earlier, Livie and I accosted strangers
at the mall with our dimes and nickels, asking for a trade. I have
just enough in my stash, I realize, as I begin sliding them into
their designated slots.

“Any free machines?” A deep male voice calls
out directly behind me, surprising me enough that I yelp and throw
the last three quarters in the air. Luckily, I have cat-like
reflexes and I catch two coins midair. My eyeballs glue on to the
last one as it hits the ground and rolls toward the washer.
Dropping to my hands and knees, I dive for it.

But I’m too slow.

“Dammit!” The side of my face hits the cold
pavement as I peer under the machine, searching for a glint of
silver. My fingers can just fit underneath …

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Now I’m pissed. Who sneaks up on
a female in an underground laundromat, other than a psycho or a
rapist? Maybe he
is
one of the two. Maybe I’m supposed to be
quivering in my sandals right now. I’m not though. I don’t scare
easily and, frankly, I’m too damn annoyed right now to be anything
else. Let him try to attack me. He’ll be in for the shock of a
lifetime. “Why is that?” I force out between clenched teeth, trying
to remain calm.
Keep thy peace
, Tanner warned us. No doubt
he sensed something about me.