The Last Exhale (12 page)

The clock on the dash reads six-thirty-three. Another morning left hanging by another woman's husband.

Men.

I secure the laces to my sneakers, press “Go” on the running app on my smartphone. Soon as the GPS finds my location I hit “Start.” Clip the phone to my running belt, put one earphone in my ear, leave the other ear open so I can stay connected to nature at the same time. Need to make sure I'm always aware of my surroundings. Never know who's hiding in the bushes waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting soul.

Not a mile in, rain taps on the top of my head. I slow down momentarily to unclip the music player and place it in the waterproof pouch, then pick my pace up, hear my feet slap against wet concrete. Run like I'm trying to outrun the rain clouds. Legs feel
good through the pressure I put on them to get me to the end of the path and back.

•  •  •

Seven miles and some change later, hands on hips, I make a steady stroll back to my car.

“Thought you were going to run until midnight.”

Saw him the moment I stopped running. “How long you been out here?”

“Pulled up when you took your first step.”

I check the running app on my phone. Sixty minutes and a few seconds. “You act like you've been out here for hours.”

“Time moves slow when you're waiting.”

With my shirt, I wipe sweat and rain from my face. Unlock my doors to grab a bottle of electrolytes and a protein bar. “Seeing as though you've left me hanging these past few days, how'd you know I'd be out here?”

Brandon rubs a hand across his scalp. He pulls out his phone, fidgets with it.

I step away, give him privacy. Bend over, fingertips to toes, stretch out tight hamstrings. Feel my stomach vibrate. I unzip the pouch, look at the caller ID on my phone. It's not Eric or my mom, so I don't answer. Then I realize I brought my work phone because I didn't want to be interrupted with anybody during my run and knew nobody would be calling about a house this early. They hang up before I can answer. As I put it back in the pouch, it vibrates again in my hand. I put my business voice on.

A finger taps me on my shoulder.

I turn around. The lips in front of me move to the voice on the other end of the phone.

“How'd you get my work number?” I ask through the phone.

The call disconnects. “The question is how do you know my wife?”

One of my knees buckles, makes me lose my balance. “I wasn't aware I knew your wife.”

“You know her well enough to have your picture plastered in my front yard.”

“Bear with me. I have three houses currently listed.” I rack my brain trying to figure out which one he's referring to. One client is an elderly widow, another a married couple with two kids, and one on the way needing a larger home. “Are you talking about the property in Farrington Isle?”

“How do you know my wife?” he questions again.

A breeze passes through me. Clothes are wet from the rain and sweat. I fold my arms across my chest. “This is weird.”

He just stands there, eyes on me. Waiting for answers.

If looks could kill, I'd be lying in an open grave with dirt being tossed on top of me like a Jane Doe. “Look, I had no idea she was your wife. She called about selling her house, I went out, a contract was signed. She didn't mention a husband. How was I supposed to know?”

Hardened eyes turn away from me as he walks back over to his ride.

I finish off my drink, toss it in the trash. Need every ounce of energy possible for this conversation.

He leans up against his truck. “It's in her maiden name. Rene Ortiz.”

I know exactly who his wife is.

“Nothing makes sense to me anymore. Wish I could fast-forward to the good parts 'cause this right here…”

“I've felt that way before.”

Out of nowhere, Brandon chuckles. Then doubles over in laughter. “Wanna hear a good joke?”

His laughter and wanting to tell a joke catches me off-guard, but is needed at the same time. “Our conversations
have
been pretty deep lately, huh?”

“Get this, my wife's dying. She's got cancer.” He's laughing so hard tears stream from his eyes when he looks up. “Funny, huh?”

It takes the hand of God reaching down from heaven to keep my hand from slapping this insane individual across the face. “No. That's not funny at all, Brandon. I can't believe you.”

He pulls air through his teeth so hard it sounds like his teeth shatter. “You're right, it ain't funny.” He says that, turns around and sends his fist through his car's window.

Sydney's motherly instincts kicks in.

She whips her car through morning traffic. Does her best to get me to the hospital before all the blood in my body flows out my hand.

“It's not that bad, Syd. Not worth getting in an accident over.”

She looks at me. Worry in her eyes, hint of a smile on her face. “That's the first time you've called me Syd. I like the way it rolls off your tongue.”

I wink until the throb in my hand steals my attention.

“Keep the towel tight. We're almost there.”

A car in front of us is going too slow for Sydney's taste. She swerves around it, makes her tires scream.

Again, I say, “A few cuts aren't worth dying over.”

As she presses down harder on the accelerator, a siren blares behind us. I look out the side mirror, see an all-black vehicle with blue flashing lights on our tail.

“I'm not blind.” Still she refuses to apply the brakes.

“Now wouldn't be the time to be Bonnie and I sure as hell ain't trying to be no Clyde.”

“And now wouldn't be the time for your jokes.”

I keep my mouth shut. Let her handle her.

Sydney puts her blinker on, moves two lanes over to the right. The cop follows. She slows, puts the car in park on the side of the
road, flashers on. Beads of sweat mark her forehead as her vision's glued to the rearview. My bleeding hand no longer her concern.

I bounce my head on the headrest. No matter what I do, Rene continues to screw my life up, and now it's affecting other people.

Anxiety grows on Sydney's face as she watches the cop walk up to her window.

“Let me handle this,” I tell her.

She positions her body in a way that blocks me from looking out her window. She runs her hands through her hair, but they get caught in tangles. The rain earlier did a number on her hair. Has her looking like Raggedy Ann's twin sister.

The officer drops his arm on the top of the car, leans his head down. “Well, well, well.”

“Michael, now I know you saw how slow that car was going.”

“If you weren't going so fast, I might've.”

“Can you cut me some slack this morning? I've got somewhere I need to be.”

“I let you slide the last time. Don't want you getting into the habit of thinking just because you're married to a cop and best friends with my wife that you can get away with breaking the law.” He reaches his hand in the car. “You know the drill.”

I should've stayed my butt at home, stuck to the couch, starved and pissed at the world. I may have been miserable then, but it sure beats being in this car with my DNA dripping in my lap.

Sydney huffs, reaches across me while still trying to block me from view. Pulls her wallet and registration out the glove box.

“Is that blood on your shirt?” the officer questions.

I take that as my cue to speak up. I raise my hand with the soiled towel on it. “Yes, officer. It's mine. This kind lady was just trying to get me to the hospital.”

He takes a look at my hand, then says to the driver, “Goodness, Sydney, why didn't you just say something?”

“Well, you came to the car with a chip on your shoulder and you needed somebody to take it out on.”

The officer reaches his head in the car. “Sir, I'm sorry you have to be witness to this.” He smirks at Sydney, then looks back at me. “Let's get you to the hospital.”

“Thank you,” she and I both say. One with more of a sarcastic tone than the other.

He hands her back her identification, pausing as if he has something else to say.

“Come on, Michael.”

“Just a minute.” He looks back at me. Tells Sydney, “Step out of the car,” in a way that makes me feel like there's a warrant out for my arrest.

“What for, Michael? You see the man needs medical attention.”

“Why didn't you call him an ambulance?”

I don't know the history of these two and I couldn't care less. Either he gives her a ticket or he doesn't. At this point I'm willing to walk the rest of the way to the hospital, even if I pass out along the way.

Again, I raise my hand toward the officer. “Sir.”

He no longer looks at me with concern, but now his eyes reveal a distaste that even I can taste.

“Just get out the car, Sydney,” I tell her.

She flings the door open, nearly pushing him into traffic.

My hand no longer throbs. Think it's numb. Kind of like my consciousness. Rene has me jacked up in the worst way. Got me busting my fist through windows, got me falling apart all because I fell in love with her all those years ago. A wife should never
make her husband feel like this. And a husband should never have his wife feeling like Sydney.

She jumps back in the car, eyes refusing to blink or look in my direction.

“What was that all about?”

Sydney slowly moves the car back into the flow of traffic. Voice barely above a whisper. “He recognized your face from the park. Saw us holding hands.”

All of a sudden, my brother's warning of cops having eyes everywhere comes to mind.

This world just got a little smaller.

I haven't been happy with Eric for years. The first time in my life I do something about it, the whole world finds out.

Michael and a few other officers from Eric's unit went running at Riverpoint Park the same morning I decided to start training Brandon. Said he saw everything. Saw him pass out and watched us sitting in the grass having an intimate conversation. Saw his hand slide in mine. Saw me practically run back to my car. I thought I was being smart about not meeting with Brandon close to home. Driving thirty minutes outside of town for a running lesson seemed like a good idea. Had no idea I'd run into Eric's badge-buddies, and one who's my close friend's husband at that.

The only reason Michael didn't tell Eric is because it was right after one of the new recruits got killed in the line of duty and things were tense. He forgot. Seeing Brandon in my car brought it all back to memory. Before I could even get to the hospital, he'd called his wife and told her everything. Rachel turned around and called Katrina. My phone's been blowing up ever since. No calls from Eric, though.

The doctor in the ER put a few stitches in Brandon's hand, bandaged him up, gave him a few painkillers and sent us on our way. I drove him back to his car in silence.

No one's home when I finally make it in. Kennedy's in school,
EJ's at daycare. I'm sure Eric's at work getting an earful from Michael.

My legs move up the stairs slower than a snail sliding across the moon. Once I make it to the bathroom, I fill the tub with water so hot steam rises. Sitting in a cold hospital in wet clothes wasn't a good idea. Being sick is the last thing I need.

I don't soak long. Got two showings before noon and I'm already behind. I hop out the tub with a little more pep in my step. What will be will be.

On my way out the room I almost trip, have to hold onto the wall to keep from falling over. Inhale. Exhale. Do that three times. Calm my nerves. Life has taken an unexpected turn, nothing to lose my composure over. It's not like I'm sleeping with the man.

I look down to see I wasn't tripping over this morning's events, but a pair of shoes I haven't seen or worn in years. I pick them and just as I'm about to toss them in the closet, my attention is pulled to something lying on the bed. The shoes fall out my hand and I pick the envelope up. It's addressed to Eric scribbled in my handwriting.

It's the letter I wrote him the night before our wedding.

•  •  •

Work was torture.

Every second was spent thinking about what was going through Eric's head. From the moment I laced my sneakers and put one foot in front of the other, things have been like hell. I should've known today would be crazy after getting caught in the rain. Usually I find running in the rain to be liberating. But something about the calm drizzle should've been a sign that today would be unexpected.

Never did I imagine what life would be like if Eric found out the
truth about my feelings for him. It's funny how you want something so bad and when it finally happens, you want to take off like a dog trying to chase down a fly.

I was watching an episode of
Army Wives
a few weeks back. One of the wives on the show said something that comes to mind.
“More tears are shed over answered prayers.”
That statement resonated so deeply, and at this moment, it's so close to the truth it's unsettling. For years now I've wanted a way out of my marriage, a way to go back to a life of just me. Now that that opportunity may have come, I'm finding myself not so sure.

I've been avoiding going home since I left earlier this morning. Lollygagged in the grocery store after picking the kids up. They were antsy and so was I. Trying to create a last-minute meal was futile. I'd take them out to eat instead. Figured the longer we stayed out, the more time Eric would have to simmer down. My phone rang not once from him. No text message, email, nothing. There's no telling what Michael's beefed his head up with, and the letter… Oh, that darn letter. Why have I still been hanging on to it?

One can never avoid the inevitable.