Free Don't Forget to Breathe by Cathrina Constantine

expected. “Thank you…” I squeaked. “I think.” It hit me like a wrecking ball—why I latched onto Henry. He hadn’t an inkling about my mom. In fact he never mentioned or even asked if I had a mother.
    “I’ve been on a downer the past year.” I looked down at my fiddling fingers. “The anniversary of her death is coming up.”
    “I noticed you’re getting your head together.” His large hand covered mine. “I didn’t know if I should’ve mentioned it.”
    He noticed ? When the heck did this happen? “No, that’s fine.” I forced a smile, striving for cool. I couldn’t look at him, and stared at his long fingers covering my hand.
    He whispered, “She was very nice.” His gentle, sober tone drew my eyes to his face. Genuine and sincere, no joke, no sarcasm, his mouth curved just right.
    Time lapsed, gazing into each other’s eyes. So perfect—like Mom was bringing us together. The magical ambiance interrupted with a sloshing coke colliding into our hands.
    “Your burgers will be up in a minute,” Molly said, giving Becket goo-goo eyes.
    He removed his warm hands and he pushed his spine into the booth. At the same time I wedged my fingers below my thighs and the cushioned seat.
    “Would you like to talk about your mom?”
    “I’ve kind of bottled things up and thrown away the bottle.”
    “Understandable.” He hit the two straws on the table, shedding their wrappers, sticking one in my coke and one into his. “Have a sip.”
    My throat felt dry, and like a child I sipped as told. He had reminded me of the prevalent dream from last night. In an instant it rushed my brain and a quiver chased through me. I wiped coke from my lips and started, “It happened October twenty-fifth, close to Halloween.” He angled forward crossing his arms on the table like what I had to say was beyond a doubt imperative. “I haven’t stepped foot in that house since…I slept at Nona’s until Dad rented the place we’re living in now.” I took another sip, wetting my tongue.
    Becket’s features appeared taut as a wisp of pale hair fell, censoring his brow.
    “I’m having a hard time living with the nightmares.” Chronicling the terror, I disconnected from reality around me. Every minute, facet of that day, even to the hearty odor, to the discovery of her torn body, the events unfolded. Opening up to him like a priest in a confessional, and didn’t know why or how, but suddenly I was in Becket’s arms. I blinked away the haze and felt scalding tears washing my face. “I really can’t remember”—hiccup—“what happened”—another hiccup—“after I found her.” ––breathe—“The doctors call it retrograde amnesia.”
    I concluded by burying my wet face into his chest. He held me and stroked my hair. His palm cupped my shoulder until I stopped trembling. Sniffling, attempting to rein in my imploding emotions I reached for a napkin. He already had one in his hand offering it to me. Becket was now alerted to my lunacy.
    My vision cleared to witness Molly gawking down her nose at me. Immediate and curt, Becket stood. He flipped open his wallet and thumbed dollar bills, letting them float to the table. “We’re leaving, hope this covers the check.”
    “But…but…” she said, “want your burgers and fries to go?”
    I slid from the booth. What surprised me, he nestled me beneath his arm like he was hiding me from the paparazzi with his hand over my face. Not blaming him for leaving without a bite to eat, I embarrassed the crap out of him. He hustled onto the sidewalk like his reputation depended on it, getting rid of the nut-job ASAP. I was crippled—in the head.
    Becket settled in the driver’s seat, but didn’t start the engine. His arm came forward and with a bent finger caught a lone tear on my cheek, then he tucked the hair veiling my face behind my ear. Why so empathic? He didn’t really know me—he must hate me and my complex nature.
    “I’m an ass.” His tone