The Last Exhale Part 35

He's not where she left him. We scour the aisles, yelling out his name. Causing a panic all around. Brandon is with us. Both of us were so caught up in our brief reunion that everything else was forgotten, including my kids.

"Is this who you're looking for?" a young guy in black pants and a green shirt asks shoving a four-foot something in our direction with chocolate smeared across his face.

"Mommy, look what I got." He holds his hand out with remnants of what was once a candy bar.

"Thank you." I nod at the grocery store employee.

I reach inside my purse and pull out a pack of hand wipes. "Clean your hands before you get any more of that goo on your clothes."

"And get it off your face, silly," his sister adds.

"That's why you didn't get any candy, silly," he retorts.

Brandon watches us without saying anything. His eyes stay on EJ. I'm sure his mind is on his son, probably on the family he should have. He blinks away the memories.

"Mr. Carter, is Mr. Carter still going to teach?"

Her teacher didn't make it back by the time school ended for the year. There was talk that he was supposed to be coming back when the new year started. From the frown that crosses Brandon's face, I guess that was just talk.

"I'm not so sure, young lady."

"I hope he does. I want him to be EJ's teacher."

EJ chimes in. "Yeah, me too."

I can see discomfort in Brandon's face. I mouth the words, "Are you okay?"

"Well, it was nice meeting you, Kennedy and EJ." He reaches down and gives both of them a handshake.

"Will you tell Mr. Carter hi for me? Tell him I'm sorry for what my daddy and Uncle Mike did."

Brandon looks up at me, "Yeah, I'm sorry too."

Seeing Brandon flooded me with emotions I thought had long gone. Just as innocently as my daughter brought him over, what him and I shared began as an innocent gesture. We helped each other fill the empty s.p.a.ces in our lives. Made each other laugh, made each other feel needed. Seeing him again brought all of that back, brought back why his presence in my life came to be.

Soon as I get the kids settled in, I head up to my room. I dig my work phone out of my purse, scroll through the contact list until I come across Rene Ortiz. I hit send. It rings twice.

"Was hoping you'd call."

My insides feel like I've climbed to the top of the highest rollercoaster and am on my way down the longest descent. I had saved Brandon's number under his wife's name. Had to make sure if my husband was ever inclined to browse through my phone, he'd find nothing. "Hi." I take a breath, wait for my heart to make it back to base. "How've you been?"

He doesn't say anything, makes me think he's giving himself a minute to gather his bearing as well. "What we did, we shouldn't have."

I close my eyes, let his words sink down to my soul. "I know."

A season ago, I slept with a married man and defiled my marriage. Just like the seasons change, a lot changed in my home as well as a result of my actions. Life didn't just change for me, they changed for him, and they changed for others who didn't make the decision we did.

"We can't take it back. This is what we have to live with."

"I'm okay with that, Brandon. I wouldn't want to take it back."

A shallow breath escapes his lips. "Me either."

I put my hand on my chest, try to slow my heart from beating so fast. "Can I see you?"

"Sydney, I'm not going to lie, I haven't stopped thinking about you. I care about you, but-"

"No buts. It's not right, I know, but-"

"No buts."

What am I doing? Seeing each other again-on purpose this time-wouldn't be good. Wouldn't be right. He's got to move on with his life. Being with me would only be a reminder of a void I couldn't fill and never would be able to. "Are you still running?"

"Nope." He chuckles. "Only did that to try and get close to you."

"Oh, and now you're pushing me away?"

"I didn't mean it like that."

"I was just messing with you." I press my lips together. Do that to give me pause before I say too much. "I'm sorry for all the chaos I brought into your life."

"No need. It was a mutual effort. If you're sorry, then I have to be. And I'm not. I did what I wanted to do."

It's what I wanted to do too. I didn't want what all came with it, though. Don't think any of us ever do. All we want is to have a moment when we feel nothing but the pleasure of that moment. We deal with everything else afterward.

I was his mistress.

He was my should've, would've, could've.

That's the reality.

Another reality is I ran from ending up like my mother and ended up just like her. I've become the lonely woman. My heart aches for the man on the other end of this phone, but there's nothing I can do to mend his pain. I tried once. What good that did. Sleeping with each other didn't do anything about our situations. Continuing it would do the same. Nothing. I can't do this.

I hold the phone close to my ear, my other hand pressed against my chest. "You take care of yourself, Brandon."

66.

BRANDON.

It's funny how we always talk about communication being important in a relationship, but the reality is, none of us are communicating.

Sydney couldn't talk to her husband. I couldn't talk to my wife. My brother's wife couldn't talk to him. And so the story continues.

A few days ago, after running into Sydney and then getting a call from her, I did entertain the idea of continuing what we had started. Her ending the call was the best thing she could've done, done for her and for us. Seeing her with her kids put it all in perspective. She had a family and needed to put her focus on them. If she was going to end her marriage, it wasn't going to be because of me. I was going to tell her that, then the conversation started going in a different direction. For a moment, I again put my needs at the forefront of my mind and got off track. I don't know what was going on in her mind, but it was a thought we both needed.

"Remember this?" My father hands me a box.

Inside is my old camera, the one he took from me in high school that caused me to get in lots of trouble for going missing in action. "Man, do I."

"You were more attached to that thing than Linus to his blanket."

Going back to those memories brings a smile to my face. Holding the camera in my hand also makes me think of Hilda in St. Thomas. Brings another smile to my face. Maybe we should've exchanged info after all. Who am I kidding? We'd just be two broken people trying to put the wrong pieces together. I think about Sydney. As with everything else in life, she'd soon become a distant memory. A faded picture in an old alb.u.m. I glance at the top of the camera to see what the number is. I'd only taken fourteen pictures when the camera was taken from me. I cut it on, aim it in my father's direction, press down on the black b.u.t.ton.

"There you go again."

Funny how he took it from me years ago because it was a distraction. Gave it back to me now only for it to be another distraction. "Doesn't take long for an old habit to be revived."

"Speaking of..." He removes the camera from my hands, places it back in the box. Takes a seat on the chair next to me in the bas.e.m.e.nt, puts the box behind him. Out of reach and out of sight. "You and your brother need to work this thing out. As you've both been witness to, people come and go, but you two will always be there."

Andrew and I made the drive to our parents' home in Houston-the home we grew up in-a couple of days ago. After Mel left, I stayed with him at the house. Helped him nurse his knee back to where he was able to stand with only the need of a crutch. His pill-popping count was decreasing, though his drinking increased. That was when I threw some clothes in a suitcase and dragged him into my truck. He'd have plenty s.p.a.ce to stretch out and elevate his leg when needed. It was a thirteen-hour drive we both needed, at least as far as getting out of a place where too much pain existed. The only time he talked to me was when he had to use a restroom or wanted something to eat. Other than that, my conversation went ignored. We weren't okay as brothers, but we were working on being okay with our circ.u.mstances.

"Dad, that's going to take some time."

He reminds me again of what I've been witness to as of late. "Time isn't always on our side."

It was true. I thought I'd have forever to watch my son grow up. Thought he'd be the one to bury me. Thought I'd have forever to love my wife. Thought we'd die together. I'm sure my brother thought the same about his wife and the kids he promised they'd have.

"The peace of G.o.d, which pa.s.seth all understanding, shall guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus." He repeats a familiar scripture in the Bible. The last time I heard those words was from the minister at Rene's funeral. My father grabs the box from behind him, stands up, hands the camera back to me. He grips it tight, not allowing me to take it. "Make peace, son."

There's been a lot over the past few months, and even over the last few years that I don't understand and probably never will. One thing's for sure, though, I'm slowly learning to have peace with where I am at this very moment. And sometimes, that's better than understanding.

I tell him, "I will."

67.

SYDNEY.

"Love is patient and kind. Love doesn't demand its own way."

I put a hold on my nightly ritual, stop rubbing lubricant into my feet. Give Eric my attention. "Where'd you hear that?"

"You don't remember?"

My headshake confirms what he already knows.

He slides a picture across to my side of the bed. It's a picture of us. I was in a white gown standing next to him in a white tux. Our lips in a smile, misery in our eyes. "The minister said it that day."

I stare at the picture, wishing I could rewind time. Wish I could go back to that first date and listen to my intuition. I'd be singing a different song now, had I just been real with me. He could've kept lying to himself, could've found someone else to tell that lie to. Put a ring on her finger, put seeds in her belly. Could've let him be some other woman's boredom. But I let fear overrule. Fear of my biological clock ticking until the clock wouldn't tick anymore. Didn't want to sing the song my mom continues to sing. I was so desperate for a different song that I buried my soul.

Eric takes the picture back, sits it on his nightstand. "I did sleep with her that night."

If I had the capability of stopping my heart right now, I would reach inside my chest, wrap my fingers around it and squeeze until it ceased to beat.

"She'd flown in from Europe the night before. I wasn't going to see her. I had finally gotten over her. We were just friends. She'd moved on, was engaged as well. Said she just wanted to see me to close that chapter for good. I knew what her definition of closure was, so I planned to give her the runaround until after the wedding."

My heart defies my desire to stop beating and increases its speed. Feels like I've downed a whole bottle of Metabolife. "How could you?"

"The same way you could sleep with that dude. Doesn't feel so good, does it?"

My jaws are clenched so tight feels like my gums are rubbing against each other. "Don't go there."

"I wish I could say I did it because you did something to p.i.s.s me off or I found out you'd lied to me. I can't say you did anything, because you didn't. I slept with her because I wanted to. Because I was still in love her."

The bed we've slept in for the past six years, the bed we made love in, created our kids in all of a sudden feels like a mattress tossed by the trash. I feel dirty. Feel like bedbugs are making a new home in my pores. If I had some matches, I'd set this bad boy on fire. Burn it, ashes to ashes and dust to dust, just like everything else has been in this marriage.

"Are you going to say something?"

"What is there to say?"

"Tell me I'm a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, tell me you hate me. Say something."

As much as I want to say those words to my husband, I can't. I'm as much to blame in all of this as he is. He knows it. I know it. We've both made our mistakes and seems like we keep making them. It all started from day one. I get up from the bed and leave him in this room where too much has been said and a lot more has been done.

In the hallway, I catch Forrester trying to scratch his way into Kennedy's room. He looks tired, like he's been digging away all night. The closer I get, the louder his breathing sounds. Poor kitty's winded. "Tomorrow you're going on a diet, buddy. I mean it this time." Not sure why my daughter's door is closed to begin with. The kids know their doors are to stay open. I crack the door open slowly, but Forrester nudges it all the way open with his big head, and announces his entrance with a deep meow.

Kennedy stirs in the bed, her journal hits the carpet. I pick it up, flip through it without looking at anything in particular. She's almost seven. I'm sure there's not much for her to vent about. It's evident she's still mad at her father, can't see too much else going on with her. I close her privacy up and put it next to Forrester at the foot of her bed. Before walking out, I give her a light kiss on her head. Make sure I leave a wide gap in the door.

"What are you doing up?" I ask EJ when I enter his room.

He slams his face in the pillow. "I'm sleeping, Mommy," says a m.u.f.fled voice.

Toys are tossed around all in his room. It was not like that when I sent him to bed nearly four hours ago. I sit on the bed next to him, put my hand on his back. "You're something else, you know that?"