The Stolen Breath Read online

  I feel terrible for waking her one too many times. But I have no one else to call.

  I’d been a loner before Andrew died, but now, I’m even worse. I hardly leave the house unless I have to go to work or run errands.

  “Lea won’t stop crying.” I rub my sleepy eyes. “I tried everything.”

  “Do you want me to come over?”

  I feel bad for asking her to come to my rescue every time, even though I’m supposed to be Lea’s mom. I should be the one to comfort her. But I also can’t find it inside me to say no.

  “Give me a few minutes,” Anita says when I don’t respond. “I’ll be there soon.”

  Like me, Andrew’s death shocked Anita to the core. For many nights, we both wept for him as she held me for hours. She has been my rock since the funeral. Every time I needed her she was there.

  The day Lea and I were released from hospital, she gave me a local therapist’s business card. She urged me to go and see her. I threw the card in the trash. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone.

  I know I need professional help, but therapists are notorious for digging too deep. The conversations wouldn’t stop at Andrew’s death. My past would be brought up, and wounds that have not completely healed would be ripped open. I’m not ready for that.

  Anita arrives wearing a pink morning robe, her jet-black hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun.

  She gives me a brief hug and then takes over like she always does. I hate that she’s so much better at taking care of Lea than I am.

  “I’m so sorry. You need sleep as much as I do.” Guilt washes over me each time she steps in to help me.

  “It’s all right. I work from home. I can take naps.”

  Anita runs a small business as a website designer, so she’s almost always home.

  So much has changed since Andrew died, not only for me, but also for her. Until recently, she was a secret alcoholic. She hid it well from everyone else, but I knew. I also knew why she drank.

  She was once married to an abusive man. She moved to Sarton from New Jersey, a little over a year before me, after her husband went to prison for almost killing her. Like me, she wanted to start over, to forget the past, but her demons followed her to the pretty little town we now call home.

  Unlike me, she tried to drown the memories with alcohol. I confronted her on several occasions and urged her to go to AA meetings. For the longest time she denied having a drinking problem, and she ignored my advice.

  So, I did the only thing I had the power to do. Sometimes when she was not home, I used my spare key to get into her house so I could go searching for alcohol bottles to get rid of them.

  Andrew was against it. He said I was invading her privacy, but he wasn’t able to stop me. And Anita never stopped drinking until the day Andrew died. When that happened, she promised she wanted to be sober enough to be there for me and Lea. She started going to AA meetings.

  For my own selfish reasons, I’m glad she found help. I don’t know what I would have done without her.

  “I feel like I failed Lea.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes. “I’m a terrible mom.”

  “No, you’re not,” Anita says, her tone firm. “The fact that you’re worried about being a good mom makes you a good one.”

  I bury my hands into my long, disheveled hair and groan. “I don’t feel like I’m here. I feel like I’m floating, like I’m disconnected all the time. I can’t even enjoy my daughter.”

  Anita squeezes my arm. “That’s because you’re not getting enough rest.”

  I let out a breath. “Yeah, you’re right.”

  Lea is not the only person keeping me awake. During the brief moments when I can close my eyes, nightmares torture me. I dream about the one night from the past that shook my world. I also dream about Andrew.

  In every dream, I watch him standing in the doorway of my hospital room, carrying a bouquet of blood-red roses in one hand and an ice cream cone in the other. Each time, I blink once and then he’s gone. I always wake up with a heaviness in my chest.

  “Have you given any more thought to seeing a therapist?” Anita scoops Lea from her crib and holds her against her body.

  “I don’t know.” I inhale to steady myself. “I really don’t think it’s for me.”

  “Kelly Wilkinson is not your usual kind of shrink. She was my therapist shortly after I came to town. She helped me a lot.”

  “What makes her different from other therapists?” I ask.

  “Well, for one, you won’t have to go to some office and sit on the couch while she shoots questions at you. She prefers to meet in a café or any place that makes her patients feel comfortable.” Anita pauses. “She talks to you like a friend.”

  “I’ll think about it.” She knows I’m lying. At least once a week she asks me to see the therapist. I always give her the same answer.

  “You should also think about getting a babysitter, even for little while. There’s nothing wrong with getting help when you need it. And you need it, Delia. I think Lea senses your stress.” She smiles. “Just go and get some sleep, okay? At least try to.”

  I yawn until my jaw pops. “Are you sure you’re okay with her?”

  Anita places a hand on the back of Lea’s head and gently moves her to her shoulder. “Of course, I am. I’m her godmother. It’s my job to take care of her. Once she’s asleep, I’ll let myself out.”

  I kiss Lea on her warm cheek and accept the offer. My feet are heavy as I drag them to my dark room and crash onto the bed that’s too big for me.

  I don’t remember falling asleep, but I remember opening my eyes in the darkness.

  Something has woken me. I can’t figure out what it is.

  I sit up and gaze at the window, my fear tying itself into a knot inside me. I don’t know whether it’s my imagination or not but I think I see movement on the other side of the glass.

  Holding my breath, I slide out of bed and walk to the window. There’s no one there, just branches swaying in the wind.

  Sometimes I don’t even know what’s real anymore. Maybe I’m going crazy.

  Feeling foolish, I return to bed. The moment my head meets the pillow, Lea starts to cry.

  In a daze, I shuffle to her nursery, which is opposite my bedroom.

  I flick on the light and gaze into my beautiful baby’s eyes. She looks like she’s been crying for a long time. Her eyes are coated with tears because I didn’t come soon enough to comfort her, because I cannot comfort her at all, even though I’m desperate to.

  My love for her is buried underneath layers of overwhelm, pain, and self-hatred. I hate myself for not being able to take care of her the way I should, the way most mothers are able to do naturally.

  I sink onto the floor next to her crib and bury my head into my hands, listening to her crying. I want to pick her up, but every time I carry her in my arms, she cries harder. When I hold her against my body, her little hands push back against my chest.

  After a few painful heartbeats, I slide my hand through the bars of the crib and place it on her warm stomach. She stops screaming for a few seconds only to start again.

  Maybe Anita is right. Maybe I do need help, the professional kind.

  Chapter 3

  My head snaps up when someone knocks on my office door.

  I quickly blink the sleep from my eyes. “Come in.”

  Patty, one of the receptionists at the Ivy Hotel, where I work as an event manager, pokes her head around the door.

  “Hi, Patty. Can I help you with something?” I wish my voice didn’t sound so flat and tired.

  Patty hesitates before responding. Her velvet brown, deep-set eyes tell me she knows I was sleeping. It’s not the first time I’ve been caught nodding off at my desk. I know the other staff members gossip about me behind my back, about how I’m not pulling my weight. When I returned to work six months ago, everyone was understanding when I made mistakes. They all felt sorry for me and tiptoed around me as if I were an egg on
the verge of cracking.

  But for the last month, as far as my colleagues are concerned, my grieving time has expired. Now they constantly complain about me to Raymond Drake, the hotel manager.

  “Ray wants to see you in his office,” Patty says. She won’t meet my eyes.

  I tighten my hands in my lap. “Did he say what about?”

  “No, just that it’s urgent.”

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll go and see him.”

  I don’t understand why Raymond had to send Patty. He could have picked up the phone. More importantly, why does he want to see me? He only calls people to his office for important meetings or when someone is in trouble.

  Patty closes the door softly, and I rise from my chair. My body feels like an unbaked lump of dough.

  Before I leave the room, I call Anita to check on Lea.

  “I just put her down for her nap,” she says. “She’s sleeping soundly.”

  “Thank you so much, Anita.”

  I work at the Ivy three times a week. On those days, Anita has insisted on babysitting Lea, since she’s home anyway. I wouldn’t mind sending Lea to daycare, but we have very few daycare centers in Sarton and the waiting lists are long.

  I appreciate Anita’s help, but it hurts to know she’s able to care for my daughter so effortlessly—even when running her business—while I struggle all the time.

  My office phone rings. It’s Raymond. “I have to go,” I say to Anita quickly. “See you later. I’ll bring you your favorite potato croquettes from the restaurant.”

  “You’re the best.”

  “I know I am.” I laugh.

  Since Andrew died, laughing is not something that comes easy to me anymore. That’s why when I do laugh, I notice.

  After I hang up, instead of answering Raymond’s call, I go straight to his office, which is located behind the reception area. When I near reception, Patty and the other two receptionists move their heads apart and stare at me, fake smiles on their faces. I don’t have to be a genius to know I was the topic of discussion. The feeling takes me back to high school, when the popular girls gossiped about the girl who never fit in.

  I walk past without smiling back. I’m not in the mood to fake it today.

  I step into Raymond’s office with my head held high.

  Ray is not your typical five-star hotel manager. He has an afro ponytail at the nape of his neck, tattoos that peek out of the collar of his shirt, and black, snakeskin boots that are always polished to a shine. He also drives a Harley Davidson motorcycle to work. He hasn’t always been this way. Two years ago, he played the part of a clean-cut businessman. That was until he turned forty and everything changed. He stopped wearing suits and ties and turned to jeans and leather jackets instead. He even had a treadmill brought to his office so he can work out during his lunch breaks.

  The one thing that has not changed about him is that he’s a good guy. And he has been really patient with me the past couple of months.

  “I’m sorry for not coming immediately. I was on the phone.”

  “No trouble. I have a meeting in fifteen minutes. I wanted to talk to you before I leave.”

  I nod and lower myself into one of the rough leather chairs.

  He folds his hands on the heavy oak desk between us. His chocolate eyes meet mine with an intensity that makes me shift in my chair. “How have you been feeling lately?” he asks.

  “Fine. Why do you ask?”

  “Come on, Delia. I know you’re still struggling.”

  “Of course, I am. My husband died less than a year ago. That’s not enough time for me to recover.” The truth is, I don’t think I will ever be able to recover from the blow of fate.

  “You’re right. It must be hard for you. We all miss Andrew. The new restaurant manager is still not able to fill his shoes.” He clears his throat. “Delia, I think you need a break.”

  “I disagree.” A fake smile trembles on my lips. “I’m fine...really. I know I’ve made some mistakes, but I’ll be more careful.”

  Ray sighs. “Delia, you only know about the mistakes I told you about. There are others that I haven’t mentioned.”

  “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

  “Last week, Sam Westbrooks, the owner of half the businesses in Sarton was in town.”

  “Yes, I heard.” I hold my breath and wait for what’s to come next.

  “Well, several weeks ago, his secretary booked an event here for some of his employees. Delia, you forgot to put the event on the calendar. They showed up last Tuesday and we were not ready for them.”

  Blood drains from my face, and my cheeks feel cold. I suddenly remember the call from Sam Westbrooks’s secretary. It must’ve been around three weeks ago. I remember that she wanted us to organize an event for thirty people. I don’t recall what happened after that.

  “I’m so sorry.” I bring my hands together. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Unfortunately, there’s more.” Ray places his palms on the table, his fingers splayed. “Last week, you also forgot to notify the chefs that two people from one of our weekend bookings had a nut allergy. They had to be rushed to hospital.” He lets out a deep sigh. “Delia, I know what you’re going through is hard. I don’t know what I would do if my wife suddenly...” his voice drifts off. “What I’m trying to say is, I think you need to take some time for yourself.”

  “Are you firing me?” If he is, I won’t blame him. My carelessness sent two people to the hospital. I’ve always prided myself on being good at paying attention to detail. In fact, it has always been one of my strengths, but lately I’ve dropped the ball one too many times. As kindhearted as Ray is, everyone has their limits. Now it all makes sense why he called me to his office. I’m being let go.

  It won’t be the end of the world if I don’t work for a few months. Andrew left us a bit of insurance money. It would cover the bills for a while. But I need to work. It keeps me sane.

  “No.” Ray shakes his head. “You’re still one of my best employees, but I need you to take the time you need to get back on your feet.”

  “How long are you talking?”

  “One or two months. You’ve been through a lot. You didn’t just lose your husband; you have a little baby to take care of by yourself, too. I help my wife out with the boys, but even with two of us, it’s still exhausting at times.”

  “Yeah, it is.” Pain spreads across my chest. I’ve been messing up at work and I’m messing up at home. I don’t know what I’m good at anymore. I lift my eyes to meet his again. “Thank you, Ray.”

  “If you need anything, let me know. I’m only a phone call away. And once you’re feeling better, you’re always welcome back.”

  “Are you sure you won’t find someone better than me?”

  “That won’t happen.” He chuckles and stands up from his chair. “I better get to my meeting. I suggest you go home immediately.”

  “Okay.” I get to my feet and walk to the door. “You’re a good man, Raymond.”

  “That’s what I’ve been told.” He chuckles. “Now get out of here.”

  Before pushing down the handle, I turn back to him. “How are the guests now? I mean, the ones with the nut allergies. Are they okay? Are they pressing charges?”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. And they were taken to the hospital in time. Everything is fine.”

  Nothing is fine. Everything feels broken. He wants me to go home and fix myself, to return after one or two months. I don’t know if that’s even enough time. What if I never get myself back together?

  I stumble blindly to my office and put my belongings into a small box.

  Within fifteen minutes, I’m behind the wheel of the sedan Andrew bought me for my birthday seven months before he died. The sun is shining and the world looks happy, but I feel detached from everything.

  The small town of Sarton, with its historic buildings and streets lined with southern magnolia, is a popular place for tourists in the summer. Dri
ving down a narrow, winding street, I roll down my window and inhale the aroma of freshly baked bread. Tears spring to my eyes when an image of my mother flashes through my mind.

  I remember the elaborate birthday cakes she baked from scratch, the fancy cookies she made for our tea parties, to which all my dolls were invited.

  She died a year before I graduated from high school. If she were alive, maybe things would be different; maybe I would be able to heal faster. She was my rock. Now I have no one. My father left her when I was two weeks old. The only family I had was Andrew and his parents, who live in Corlake, Florida. Now he’s gone too, and his parents blame me for their only child’s death, after I confessed that he died while getting me ice cream. They refuse to see me or Lea. I guess she reminds them too much of Andrew. But I still don’t understand how they could turn their backs on their own grandchild, a piece of Andrew.

  Now, Lea is the only family I have. I better not mess things up.

  Chapter 4

  Ared Volkswagen Beetle is parked in Anita’s driveway. As I walk up the three front steps, guilt stabs me in the chest all over again. She probably has a meeting that she had to take while caring for my baby.

  I ring the bell, and when she answers the door, she looks surprised to see me. “Why are you home so early?” She throws a quick glance over her shoulder.

  I shrug. “Ray told me to take more time off.” A sad smile crosses my lips. “Apparently, I have been making mistakes that I didn’t even know about. He’s been trying to protect me.”

  “What kind of mistakes?” she asks.

  I hesitate. “Can I come in?” It’s awkward to talk about such an important topic in the doorway.

  “Of course. Sorry.” She opens the door wider and I walk in.

  A girl I have never seen before is bottle-feeding my daughter. She’s slim with wisps of brown curls framing her round face. She can’t be older than twenty.

  “Hello,” she says with a bright smile.

  I greet her and turn back to Anita, questions on the tip of my tongue.

  Anita takes Lea from the girl’s arms. “It’s okay, Danielle. You can go now.”