Breathe Her In

  Breathe Her In

  By

  Gretchen Tubbs

  For my cottage friends…

  Thanks for making lunch the highlight of my work day.

  And, for Fancy.

  Love all of you!

  Text copyright ©2015 Gretchen Tubbs

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means- except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews- without written permission from its publisher.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or deceased, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  1. Rafe

  2. Eleanor

  3. Rafe

  4. Eleanor

  5. Rafe

  6. Eleanor

  7. Rafe

  8. Eleanor

  9. Rafe

  10. Eleanor

  11. Rafe

  12. Eleanor

  13. Rafe

  14. Eleanor

  15. Rafe

  16. Eleanor

  17. Rafe

  18. Eleanor

  19. Rafe

  20. Eleanor

  21. Rafe

  22. Eleanor

  23. Rafe

  24. Eleanor

  25. Rafe

  26. Eleanor

  27. Rafe

  28. Eleanor

  29. Rafe

  30. Eleanor

  31. Rafe

  32. Eleanor

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Matthews,” Ms. Clark tells me from across the surface of her chipped Formica desk. “There’s nothing more I can do for you and Della. I’ve exhausted all of my resources. She has to be removed from her current home, but going to live with you isn’t a possibility at this point. Foster care is the only viable option.”

  I push up from my chair, sending it jolting across the scuffed floor. There’s no way in hell I’m letting Della go into foster care. The buzzing of the florescent lightbulbs overhead reminds me that this is not the place to lose my temper. Picking it up and planting my ass back in the cool metal, I attempt to take several calming breaths. I plead with Ms. Clark, first with my eyes and then with my words, hoping for one more shot.

  “Things have changed since the last time I was here. I’m working now. My boss can vouch for me. Finn O’Leary.” My hand shoots to my back pocket to fish out my wallet, where his business card is stuffed, but she puts up her hand and stops me from taking it out.

  “I’m sure Mr. O’Leary has nothing but wonderful things to say about your employment record, but I can’t do anything more for you. My hands are tied.” She tilts her head slightly to the side, drawing my eyes to the thick, battered manila folder sitting in the corner of her desk. Rafe M. Matthews is scrawled in faded ink, barely legible on the bent tab. “Given your history, Mr. Matthews, no judge in this state will let you take over Della’s care.”

  My history.

  My blood boils. A history that I was forced to live because of my drug-addicted whore of a mother.

  Jesus.

  Poor Della.

  “Fuck,” I exhale and then quickly apologize to the Social Worker. “Give me a week,” I plead.

  Time for my last resort.

  Her deep brown eyes grow soft, and I think she’s going to cave. “Please, Ms. Clark. One week…that’s all I need. If I can’t make this better by then, you’ll never hear from me again.”

  “I don’t see what could happen in the next seven days that would cause such a drastic shift in your circumstances.” Her hand gestures to the file in the corner. “You can’t exactly make that disappear.”

  Closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose, trying to get the pounding to go away, I can’t help the gruff laugh that manages to escape. This naïve woman has no idea how easy it is to maneuver around trivial things like family court judges and juvenile files the size of phone books.

  I don’t need a week to change this.

  I need about thirty seconds to make a phone call.

  A phone call that I can’t put off any longer. I have to do it…for my sweet, innocent, messed up Della. I just hope it’s not too late for her.

  “One week?” I ask, opening my eyes and holding my breath. My heart is pounding against my chest, blocking out the other sounds in the room.

  She lets out a sigh of defeat. “One week, Mr. Matthews.” Her eyes dart to the calendar hanging on wall to the side of her desk. “I’ll see you back here on the eighteenth.”

  The air outside is suffocating, which is certainly not helping the anxiety that’s pressing down on me. Phone in one hand and cigarette in the other, I pull up the number that I have seared into my brain.

  “Ahh, Rafe,” the serpentine voice draws out. “I’ve been waitin’ for your call. How’s it goin’?”

  “Cut the bullshit. We need to meet.”

  “When?” The eagerness seeping through his voice is enough to make my skin crawl.

  There’s no need for me to prolong what I’m about to do. “As soon as you can.”

  “You’re mom’s place good? An hour?”

  As much as I hate going back there, I don’t really have a choice at this point. “Sure,” I grit out. It would be in my mother’s best interest if she wasn’t home. I can’t be responsible for what I’ll do if I see her. That bitch is responsible for ruining my life… taking everything away that meant anything to me.

  “I look forward to it, Rafe. This is the beginning of something beautiful,” he sneers, and I hang up before I throw my phone against the brick wall of the Office of Child Services.

  This is the beginning of the end of my freedom.

  1. Rafe

  Three Years Later

  Exhaustion isn’t a strong enough word for what I’m feeling right now, but I wouldn’t change it for anything. Della is safe, we have a roof over our heads, there’s food on the table, and I’m bringing home a paycheck. Word is spreading about the work I’m doing here at the shop, so the slots in my appointment book are never empty. Raising a child, however, while juggling a legit job and the other shit I’m forced to do in order to keep custody is grueling. Merely drawing in a full breath is taxing on days like today. I close my eyes and lean against the side of the shop, enjoy the feel of the nicotine invading my system, and relish in the few rare minutes of peace and quiet out here.

  The rapid clicking of stilettos along the asphalt causes my eyes to snap open. I take in the girl walking toward the shop…from her conservative little skirt that hits just above the knees to her prim and proper button up blouse. She looks like she just strolled out of the public library. I’m not sure what she’s doing walking into Ink Addiction.

  My eyes roam to her face. As I skim over her features that aren’t hidden by the dark hair covering part of her face, I have the fleeting thought that she’s just like any other ordinary girl. I blink through the cloud of smoke rising from the cigarette burning between my fingers and push the word ‘ordinary’ from my brain. There’s nothing ordinary about her.

  She’s fucking stunning.

  This girl is a work of art. Unexpected beauty like hers is not something I experience every day, especially in a world as ugly as mine.

  Familiarity is dancing along the edge of my senses, making my entire body come alive, but there’s no way it’s her. That would be impossible. It’s been too damn long. I throw my cigarette down and push through the doors of the shop, right on her heels. I can barely hear her voice through the blood pumping in my ears, but Della’s name coming from her lips stops me dead
in my tracks.

  “I must be mistaken. I’m looking for Della Matthews, but the address the office gave me has to be wrong,” she says, her eyes roaming over the paper attached to her hot pink clipboard. Her voice causes chills to erupt along my skin, even though my insides are burning up. I move in closer, ready to ask for her name to confirm what I already know, but my best friend beats me to it.

  “And who might you be, sweetheart?” Declan asks. From the tone of his voice, it’s for purely selfish reasons, not to see why she’s asking about Della.

  “I’m her new teacher, Eleanor Benson.”

  There’s no fucking way.

  My world just stopped on its axis.

  “Eleanor?”

  “Rafe?” My name comes out on an exhale, just like it always did all those years ago. She spins around to face me and her papers go flying, scattering across the black and white tiles of the lobby floor.

  She drops down, arms flailing, frantic to collect all of the sheets. I crouch down next to her and put my hands on top of hers to stop the movement. The hiss that escapes at the moment of contact is unexpected.

  It fucking stings.

  “Stop for a minute,” I tell her, but she keeps shuffling the damn papers around. “Eleanor,” I call, my voice coming out with more bite than necessary. She stops and finally looks at me. I didn’t think her dark eyes would be wet with unshed tears.

  I’m struck speechless, and I can’t move when our eyes lock. I’m face to face with the one person I never expected to see again, despite the fact that I’d give up anything for the chance. Some of the best and worst memories of my life hit me with a force that knocks the air from my lungs. Frozen to my spot, I can’t do anything to stop her as she stands and bolts out of the door.

  “What the hell was that about?” Declan calls from behind the counter.

  “What did I miss?” Thomas asks as he rounds the corner from the back of the shop.

  I snap out of my daze and look at my two best friends. Shaking my head, I try to come up with a way to explain what just happened.

  How do I even attempt to explain all that is Eleanor Benson?

  “Nothing,” I grumble. Sticking my head out the front door, I look up and down the sidewalk, but she’s long gone. If Thomas and Declan weren’t there to witness it, I’d swear I’d seen a ghost.

  ___

  Claire’s got the front door open before I can even shut off the ignition to my piece of shit Explorer. Thank God Declan’s just as talented with a set of tools as he is with a tattoo gun. If it wasn’t for him, this thing would be in the junkyard and I’d be walking everywhere.

  Her eyes are soft and smiling, despite the lines of worry etched on her face. “Come in and get something to eat. You must be starved.”

  I welcome her warm hug. Even after all these years, Claire’s motherly embrace still grounds me. Being in her arms calms me, just like it did all those years ago when she first welcomed me into her home. She pulls back slightly but doesn’t let go of me. Those knowing eyes of hers search mine, looking for answers that I have no intention of giving her. She’s well aware that I’ve been off work for a few hours and that I’ve been doing things I’ve got no business doing. She also knows that I have no desire to do them. But some things can’t be helped. Some things in life are out of my control. They’ve been that way since I first became a part of Claire’s life, back when I was just a boy.

  “Rough night?” she asks, squeezing the top of my arms.

  That doesn’t even begin to cover it. Between running into Eleanor and my work for Ford after my shift at the shop, I’m done. But I don’t burden her with that. “Long night. How was my Della? Did she give you any trouble?”

  Her eyes light up and she swats me on the arm. “Why do you even ask me that? Della was a perfect angel. She always is. Come inside and relax while I heat up some food for you.”

  We sit at the kitchen table, and I allow myself to take a few full breaths for the first time all night. No matter what’s going on in my life, being here with Claire brings me a sense of peace. It all started when I was an angry eleven year old kid, taken away from my addict mother for the first time. Claire Brennan welcomed me into her home, no questions asked. And, just like tonight, she’d sit me at this battered table, feed me, and shower me with unconditional love.

  “Big day tomorrow, Rafe.”

  My thoughts immediately wander back to Eleanor. Seeing her today was the biggest shock of my life. I can’t wrap my brain around the fact that she’s Della’s teacher. I called her cell phone after she ran out of the shop, my fingers remembering exactly how to dial the digits, but I was delusional to think that the number was the same after eight long years.

  I have to talk to her tomorrow, explain things. I don’t even know where to start, but I’ve got to do something.

  She must hate me.

  I know I hate myself for what happened that night.

  Claire keeps talking, even though my attention is on other things. “I wish you would stay here tonight. We can bring Della to school together.”

  “No, I need to take her home. None of her stuff is here.”

  “I hope she does better at this school. Last year was a disaster.”

  That’s an understatement. “She’ll be fine, Claire.”

  Her hand shoots out and rubs my arm. “I meant what I said about helping you. We could still apply for admissions at-”

  “No,” I cut her off. Claire has offered to send Della to a small private school more times than I can count, but I always turn her down. Claire does more than enough for the two of us. Hell, this entire family does more than enough for us. “I have a good feeling about this new place.”

  “Well, let me know if you change your mind.”

  Before I can even get the first bite of Claire’s dinner in my mouth, Della’s screams rip through the house. I’m up in an instant, running up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Claire’s right behind me, a little slower in her ascent up the staircase. The nightlight in the hallway guides me to the room Claire’s got set up for Della.

  “Della, shhh, I’m here,” I whisper in her ear as soon as I gather her into my arms. A light sheen of sweat coats her skin, and the screams coming from her are nauseating.

  It breaks my fucking heart that I can only hear her voice when she’s in the throes of one of her fits or nightmares.

  She’s thrashing in my arms, pushing against my chest, sobbing and shaking her head back and forth. Squeezing her harder, I call her name again, firmer this time. “Della, it’s me. You’re at Mamma C’s house. You’re safe. Wake up, Della.”

  Each time I repeat her name, her sobs grow weaker. Her body is starting to calm and I can feel her breaths against my skin coming out slower. Timidly, she opens her eyes and takes in her surroundings. Claire turns on the hall light and I can see the tears dampening her face. This certainly isn’t the first time Claire is witness to one of Della’s episodes, but they never get any easier to watch.

  The things that Della has endured in her short life are enough to bring anyone to tears.

  “Dell, honey, you okay?” I ask, my voice trembling.

  She brings her shaking fingers up to my face, seeking confirmation that she’s awake and I’m really here with her. I kiss her palm and give her wrist a gentle squeeze.

  “You’re at Mamma C’s house, remember? You stayed with her today while I was working.”

  I get a small nod. Della pulls her face up slightly and looks around until she sees Claire in the doorway.

  “Would you like a glass of water, Della Doo?” Claire’s voice is clogged with tears.

  She nods, which sends Claire scurrying off to the kitchen.

  “Wanna talk about it?” I ask, even though I know it’s never going to happen. Hopefully one day the words will come. She was able to speak before that monster robbed her of the ability.

  She shakes her head back and forth quickly, her eyes wide and fearful.

  “How about we
head home? We have a big day tomorrow. Your teacher came by the shop today.” Acknowledging it makes my gut clench. “I think you’re gonna like her.”

  Della’s little eyebrows draw in.

  “I promise, Dell.”

  Claire comes back with her water and Della drains the glass in a few gulps.

  “You met her teacher?” she asks, sounding a bit surprised that I didn’t share this information earlier. “And?” she prompts when I don’t give her anything more.

  “And, I think she’s gonna be great for Dell.”

  “Who is she? Anyone I might know?” Claire’s a retired teacher, the widow of a cop, and a very active member of the community. There’s not much that happens in this town that she doesn’t have a hand in. Considering who Eleanor’s dad is, there’s no way Claire doesn’t know who she is.

  “Eleanor Benson.” Jesus, just saying her name out loud stings. I let it tumble through my mind on a daily basis, but I never let it slip pass my lips.

  “Judge Benson’s daughter? I didn’t realize she’d moved back.”

  “Back? From where?” This news takes me by surprise.

  “Oh, um, I heard she’d moved to Texas to live with her mother years ago. The ladies at Pokeno said she and her father had a falling out, but I don’t listen to all of that nonsense.” She gets up to bring Della’s glass back to the kitchen but turns back before she leaves the bedroom. “Wait, weren’t the two of you friends? I never remembered you mentioning her, but she came here one night looking for you. She was quite upset.”

  Chills form along the edge of my spine and I sit a little straighter on the edge of Della’s small bed. “When?”

  “It was right after you left me that last time, Rafe.” A wave of sadness washes over her face, gutting me, because I know exactly when she’s talking about. That night was supposed to turn out much different.

  For all of us.

  I can’t dwell on it too much…Della’s pulling on my sleeve with one hand and rubbing her eyes with her other. “Ready to head home?” I ask.

  A simple nod is all I get. I scoop her tiny frame up, thank Claire once again for her help, and head home with my Della.