Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(96)

While she was in the kitchen, Evan leaned over and asked, "Want to stay or go?"

I bit my lip in contemplation. Before I could make a decision, the bearded guy folded his hand and declared, "Well, I think I'm broke enough. Sharon, we're going."

"No," she mumbled from her slouched position on the couch.

"Yeah, you're about ready to pass out," he noted, standing from the table.

"Not you too," my mother sulked when she found him retrieving their coats from the closet.

"Your guy took all my money," he told her, "so happy birthday. Don't spend it all at once." She gave him a hug and brief peck on the lips.

With it just being the three of us, and my poker chips down to a handful, Jonathan suggested, "Cash out?"

"Sure," I answered standing from the table. Evan remained to help Jonathan put the chips back in their silver case. I headed into the kitchen to begin picking up.

My mother came in from the porch shivering. "It's just us, huh?" She observed the guys in the living room and me in the kitchen.

"I did have fun," she said from behind me.

"Good," I answered, dumping the half full glasses in the sink.

"I'm sorry about upstairs, you know, with Jonathan. I can be pretty stupid sometimes."

I could only nod, not knowing how to respond.

Then out of nowhere she asked, "So you don't remember, right?"

I turned around and tightened my eyes in confusion. "What? About your parties when I lived with you? I remember."

"I was just thinking," she said, ignoring my answer. She settled down on the kitchen chair―probably because she was having a hard time standing. "I've had to relive that day for all these years, and you don't remember it." Her face was smooth and emotionless as her eyes lazily flipped up at me.



       
         
       
        

I opened my mouth to ask her what she was talking about, but then I realized―she was talking about the day he died. I closed my mouth and averted my gaze.

"You always had to wear pink," she remembered, lost in the past as her eyes glazed over. "He bought you a new pink dress every year."

I was held hostage by her words, unable to tell her to stop. My heart started to beat faster.

"You were waiting for him by the window, wanting to know why he was late. You kept asking where he was every five minutes." Sorrow flooded her face. "It's not fair that you don't remember the day I can never forget. When was the last time you celebrated your birthday, Emily?" Her question sliced through me.

My chest froze, and I had to force air into my lungs. All of a sudden, I wasn't in the room anymore. I was in my pink frilly dress, staring out the window.

"He would drive home early from work to hang those stupid colored lanterns in the backyard," she recalled impassively.

For a second I saw them. They were different shapes and colors, strewn in crisscrossing lines across the backyard. My stomach was swallowed in coldness, and I couldn't move.

"He'd bring home your cake, made from that ridiculously expensive bakery in the city. It always had to be chocolate with raspberry filling."

"When's daddy going to be home?" I asked, the curtains spread so I could keep watch.

"He shouldn't be long," was what I was told each time. It wasn't my mother who answered me, but another woman. I looked over my shoulder to see her pulling a pan out of the oven.

"But it's getting dark, and he never comes home in the dark," I argued, continuing to stare out the window.

"Anything yet?" she asked, concern resonating in her voice as a man entered the room with a phone in his hand.

"No," he answered. "They said he left the office hours ago." The man looked familiar, but I couldn't place him.

"Rachel!" he hollered.

"What?" she answered from upstairs.

"I think we need to make the call."

Before she could answer, the phone rang. She rushed down the stairs as the man answered. "Who is it?" she demanded before he even said hello.

The anxiety in her eyes made me nervous. I kept watching her, unable to look away from her distressed face. It changed from worry to despair when the words spilled from his mouth after he hung up the phone. "There's been an accident."

"You took him from me," she murmured, not removing her eyes from mine.

"Rachel? What did you do?" Jonathan's voice sounded like he was talking through a tunnel.

My vision blurred with tears. Her eyes widened in recognition. "Oh," she breathed, "You remember."