Free Breathe, Annie, Breathe by Miranda Kenneally Page B

Connor, who will be a junior at Hundred Oaks this fall, texted me a few days ago and invited me to come check out Kyle’s room, to decide if I want to keep anything.
    “I’ll be out in the living room if you need me,” Connor says. The door clicks shut.
    I haven’t been in Kyle’s room since September, since before he broke up with me. His alarm clock blinks a red 12:00 over and over. I pick up a worn Titans sweatshirt from the floor and bring it to my nose. His scent is gone. It smells like nothing. I fold the sweatshirt neatly and set it on his unmade bed.
    I wipe dust off the framed picture of us from junior prom. I set it on top of the sweatshirt, starting a pile. I pat his stuffed bear’s head. Kyle had Chuck since he was a baby, and now the bear lives on the bookshelf.
    For a while, I’d call Kyle’s cell phone just to hear his voicemail message. But then his parents shut it off. I look frantically around the room to see if there’s anything I should take in case his parents don’t recognize its value. If I had been his parents, I would’ve kept that cell phone plan forever.
    I find a red Nike headband he wore for track and slip it into my back pocket. If I make it to the marathon, maybe I’ll wear it during the race. Eighties style.
    I sit down on his bed and run my fingertips over his pillow. When I lift it to see if it still has Kyle Smell, I discover a small black velvet box. With shaking fingers I open it to find a gold ring with a small diamond. I gasp. The night at the drive-in when Kyle proposed, he didn’t hold a ring out to me. He only said, “Marry me.”
    The door creaks open and I look up to find Mrs. Crocker, decked out in her apron, the one spotted with a cherry print. Honestly, I’ve never seen her at home without an apron on—she’s always cooking something—but it doesn’t fit like it used to. It hangs around her loosely.
    “Annie, we’re ordering pizza. Do you want to join us for din—” She makes a noise when she sees what I’m holding. She brings her fingers to her mouth. “I’d wondered where he put it. That ring belonged to my grandmother.”
    “It’s beautiful.”
    “Look under the lid.”
    I carefully peel the silk lining back and fish out a delicate piece of onion paper. It’s so fine, I worry it might crumble in my hand like a Saltine. I slowly open the paper and discover a note dated 1946: “For Ellen, with all my love, Arthur.”
    “That’s great,” I say with a genuine smile, putting the note back where I found it.
    “I’m so happy you found the ring.”
    I hold the box out to her, and she takes it.
    “He would’ve wanted you to keep this,” she adds.
    I can’t. I wouldn’t take it when he was alive.
    She must sense my hesitation. “I’ll save it for Connor…maybe he’ll want to give it to a girl one day.”
    I clear my throat and nod. Mrs. Crocker opens her mouth again to say something, but she shuts it.
    Does she blame me?
    That’s when Mr. Crocker shows up, wearing a blue T-shirt that reads Williamson County Fire Department . He used to have a full head of blond hair, just like his sons, but now it’s thinned out.
    “Hi, Annie,” Mr. Crocker says. “Your mom told us you’re training to run the Country Music Marathon.”
    “To finish on Kyle’s behalf.” His mother chokes on her words.
    I nod slowly, picking at a hangnail, ripping the skin away.
    “How’s it going?” Mr. Crocker asks, smiling.
    I don’t have it in me to tell them I got sick as hell after a run, had to miss work, and nearly got dropped by my trainer. Not to mention I’m scared to death of this weekend’s eight-mile run. When Kyle was training, he rarely complained and never considered giving up. At least not that I know of.
    “I did seven miles last weekend,” I say softly. Barely. I had to walk a lot of it.
    “Need any pointers? I ran a half one time.”
    “Have any idea why my stomach hurts all the time?” Even though Matt changed my diet a little this