Page 13 of A Breath of Life (Shadowy Solutions #4)

Diem

M y blood ran hot. Prickling tension radiated like electricity across my skin. The argument with Tallus churned my stomach, and I wanted to put my fist through a wall. I was so fucking stupid. Why couldn’t I keep my goddamn mouth shut?

I hated it when we fought. I hated it when Tallus got it into his head to push my buttons. Some days, I needed him to back down and let me breathe. Being a reactive and controlling jerk was something I’d been trying so hard to rectify in therapy.

Mostly, Tallus recognized when he went too far and pulled back the sass. On rare occasions, like tonight, he grew combative and pushed my limits to see what kind of reaction he might get.

Christ, I didn’t want to yell. I didn’t want to slam fucking doors or punch holes in walls. Why couldn’t he understand that I only had his best interests at heart?

The burning need for a drink itched under my skin. Alcohol would have dampened the rage, but my dependency was getting out of hand. It was something else Tallus had not so subtly pointed out on more than one occasion.

So, instead of reaching for the hidden bottle in the freezer, I left.

Walk away , Dr. Peterson always said. Don’t engage when you’re upset. Take time to cool off. Living with someone can be challenging. You won’t always get along. That’s normal.

I was not a failure. I was making the right decision.

Dad’s taunting reprimand claimed otherwise, but his voice had dimmed over the past few months. Getting Nana out of his house had helped tremendously. Without constant encounters, I’d made progress, or rather, Dr. Peterson claimed I’d made progress. I didn’t always see it.

The sun had recently set, leaving only a fast-fading imprint on the western sky—a deep purple bruise that reflected the city lights. It would never be fully black in the city. Not with so much light pollution.

Checking the time on my phone, I picked up my pace, taking longer strides. Echo kept up, trotting along at my side. She sensed our excursion wasn’t a casual stroll and that we were in a hurry. I appreciated her astuteness and inability to ask questions.

Visiting hours at Evergreen Estates nursing home ended at eight thirty. If I wanted to spend time with Nana, I needed to hurry.

The home was a ten-minute walk from the apartment.

We’d chosen the new living space specifically for its easy access to Nana.

Echo and I visited at least once a week.

Only because she was a service dog did they allow her inside.

The residents loved her. At first, the attention made me uncomfortable, but once I realized the old folks mostly wanted to see Echo and didn’t expect anything from me, I relaxed .

The lingering summer heat radiated off the pavement and did nothing to cool my temper. Humidity hung in the air, mingling with smog and coating my sweaty skin.

My bones ached. Fighting with Tallus always left me weary.

No matter the topic of our argument, I blamed myself.

With no healthy blueprint to reference, I had no clue how relationships were supposed to look, nor did I know how to love someone without driving them away.

I fumbled along, constantly falling on my face.

Halfway to the home, Echo slowed to a stop and peered behind us, distracted by something. Her hearing was better than mine, but she still had a puppy’s attention span at times, so it was usually nothing.

I glanced back, hoping to find Tallus, wishing he’d run after us even when I still didn’t know how to fix the mess I’d made.

No Tallus. In fact, I couldn’t see what had caught the pup’s attention.

The usual evening traffic persisted. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Giving her leash a gentle tug, I urged Echo onward.

We’d gone less than a block when she jolted to a halt, again focusing on something behind us.

“What is it, girl?”

I turned and scanned more thoroughly, but again, apart from typical downtown Toronto chaos, I couldn’t figure out what she was seeing. We took nightly walks. This wasn’t new terrain. Did she hear music or shouting? I strained, but apart from the raucous city, I heard nothing.

A thread of concern kept me rooted in place for an extra minute until I was convinced my dog was acting the part of a squirrely puppy and nothing more.

When it happened a third time, my spine stiffened.

I froze and scanned my surroundings. “What do you see?”

She growled low, her nose aimed in the direction we’d come .

A streetcar clamored past. Several pedestrians weaved around me at a fast pace to wherever they were going.

People waited in a clump at a bus stop. A jogger bounced between feet as they waited for the light at a crossing to change.

Sirens blared in the distance. Uber Eats cyclists zipped by in every direction, delivering food to customers.

One nearly knocked into my arm since I’d stepped aside and was blocking the street. He shouted something profane.

Ordinary city nightlife. Nothing bizarre.

Convinced the stupid dog had me jumping at shadows, I tugged her leash. “Enough out of you. We’ll be late if we don’t hurry. Don’t you want to see Nana?”

Echo whined but didn’t stop again. She glanced back a few more times, and it wasn’t to check on me. I ignored her and my gut, keeping her tight by my side as I focused on our destination.

At the home, I signed in and suffered a congenial conversation with the receptionist, grunting responses, in no mood for idle chitchat. She must have caught a vibe and let me go, reminding me that visiting hours were ending soon.

Nana’s room was on the second floor. By the time Echo and I arrived, it was a quarter past eight. We had fifteen minutes. It wasn’t long, but when the person you were visiting considered you to be a stranger half the time, by no fault of their own, fifteen minutes could feel like an age.

Nana sat in her rocker, peering out the window at the night beyond.

Her reflection in the glass stared back at me, and I doubted she could see much of anything but her own face.

She clutched a skein of yarn and knitting needles in her bony hands.

Nana had lost the ability to knit but often wound the wool around the needles or tangled it between her fingers.

Her poor, broken mind didn’t know the difference.

She unraveled stitches like a champ, but the act of creating garments was a skill she no longer possessed.

It broke my heart. Knitting was something I associated with Nana.

Growing up, I remembered her always making something or other. Sweaters, blankets, scarves, socks.

Hearing me enter, she turned and peered unknowingly from behind smudged glasses. “Leroy? Is that you?”

I gritted my teeth. “No. It’s Diem, Nana.” I would have preferred she had mistaken me for Grandfather Boone than my father, but such was the disease. Lately, I could be anyone.

Echo remained obediently by my side when I pulled up a chair and sat next to the rocker. Nana glanced at the pup with querying scrutiny but offered no greeting and asked no questions.

“I had a dog once. He was black and gray with floppy ears. That’s not him.”

“I didn’t know you had a dog.” It was possible. I had no idea. It could have been a figment of her imagination, conjured by nothing more than Echo’s presence.

“He used to chase the squirrels in the yard.”

I smiled. “What was his name?”

“Oh, Diana, I think. She’s a lovely girl. You should meet her.”

“I’d love to.” I relieved Nana of the yarn and knitting needles, and she frowned. “Do you want some help with this? It looks awfully tangled.”

“I think I slipped a stitch.”

“Could be. Let me see what I can do.”

“Do you knit?”

“Yes. You taught me, remember?”

Her expression said no, she did not remember.

“What are you making?” I asked instead.

“A sweater for my new grandson. He was born on the weekend. Beefy boy. Over ten pounds, they tell me.” Studying my face, she added, “Come on, Leroy. Don’t play with your mother. How’s the baby doing?”

A lump formed in my throat. “Good. He’s… doing okay.” For a brief moment, I wondered if my dad had loved me as an infant or if his disdain was immediate. Then I pushed the thought away because traveling down that road wasn’t healthy.

Nana bobbed her head and returned her focus to the window and her reflection. She tsk ed. “I told the man I didn’t want to say my prayers.”

“Oh? What man?”

“He should bless the baby and move on.”

I was never baptized, so I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but I let her ramble.

Once I’d wound the yarn into a tight ball, Nana was quiet.

I contemplated what to say. She didn’t contribute much to the conversation, and I had a distinct impression this was how Tallus sometimes felt when I spent too much time grunting and not communicating.

No wonder he grew frustrated. One-sided chats sucked.

For something to do, I cast on a handful of stitches and worked a few rows of stockinette. Nana noticed the movement and turned from the window, studying the click of the needles and weaving of yarn.

My dad’s voice sounded in the background, shouting from the distant past, Why’re you teaching my son a woman’s craft? You’ll make him a pussy. Put that fucking shit down, boy. You want to be a faggot?

I shut the voice down and refocused on my hands and the intricate craft I’d learned a lifetime ago.

“Are you the new nurse I met?” Nana asked. “I can’t remember.”

“No, Nana. I’m Diem. Your grandson.”

She studied my face. The vacancy behind her eyes nearly broke my heart. She was gone, never to return, and I didn’t know how I would live without her. Time slipped away so fast, and I feared what her death might do to me. How would I cope? What would I do?

“You look like my Boone. He’s fighting in the war, but he’ll be home soon. He promised. Then we’re getting married.”

“You’re a lucky lady.”

“I wonder if that nice priest will marry us.”

“You could ask him.”