Freedive

Chapter 3

Conrad

After scrubbing away the adhesive from the heart monitor patches and IV dressing, I threw my head back and let the scalding water cascade down my body. It was good to feel something other than pain and exhaustion.

I was feeling pretty guilty about giving my mom a hard time when we'd gotten home. It'd been a long night and she hadn't slept a wink. I hadn't either, but I'd pretended, hoping she'd let her eyes close as she lay her head on my bed, her hand never leaving mine. She was no stranger to hospitals, so I knew she could sleep through the bustling and beeping, but the anxiety I saw in her eyes after I came to in the emergency room was still there when we'd argued in the hallway. I guess I didn't really blame her for being so worried about me. Jere had asthma when we were kids, but it was mild and never looked anything like what happened in the kitchen, which is probably why asthma wasn't the first thing that came to my mind when I realized I couldn't breathe on the way home from the marina.

Honestly, I thought maybe it was just another panic attack. I'd been getting them a lot lately, especially with the stress of college, Mom's illness, and my parents always fighting. Jere didn't know this, but Dad had cheated on mom during her last round of chemo a few months ago. I found out by accident one day when they thought I wasn't home yet for the weekend. I'd never heard Mom cry so hard before, and it made me hate my dad for what he'd done to her when she'd needed him the most. Sometimes, I wished they'd just get divorced, that my dad would let her go once and for all. I was afraid that if Jere found out about the affair, his already contentious relationship with Dad would intensify, and I was willing to forego my already shitty relationship with him to shield Jere from the pain.

It had always been like that for me. As the oldest, it felt like it was my responsibility to look after my mom and Jere when Dad was away on another business trip, absent from our lives. It was why the idea of them divorcing seemed like the better option. They were always fighting anyway, and I knew there'd be more peace at home if he was never there to disturb it.

I was happy to be far from home, in what I considered my real home. Dad rarely came to Cousins, and I liked it that way. If my dad had been here during my attack, shit would have hit the fan, and even though I hated that I'd scared Mom, Laurel, Jere, and Belly, I was secretly glad that it had been the moms who jumped into action.

The steam had opened my airways, letting me take deeper breaths as I pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. The IV steroids and breathing treatments at the hospital had helped slow the initial attack down, but I was new to this and trying to figure out the everyday stuff, like if showers helped or made it worse. Hot showers, good, I noted, running the towel over my hair one last time to keep it from dripping down the back of my shirt.

"Hey, you're up," I heard Jere say as he let himself into my room. I'd left the door slightly cracked during my nap because I was still a bit nervous about another attack happening. "Mom said to leave you alone and let you rest, but you always kept me entertained when I was sick, so I thought I'd return the favor." I gave him a small smile, and then a big hug, because my brother with the personality of the most extroverted golden retriever and a heart of gold wasn't a crier, but his eyes were puffy and a little bloodshot, which meant he'd been torn up about yesterday. Jere hadn't handled my mom's cancer relapse well, and even though she was done with chemo and NED, no evidence of disease, anything illness-related put him on edge these days. My being away at college this year while he handled things on the home front hadn't exactly helped. "I'm glad you're okay," he whispered, resting his chin on my shoulder.

"I know I scared you yesterday. It came on so fast, out of nowhere, and I didn't know what was happening. I'm sorry." And I was. Jere and I didn't always get along, but when things got serious, we were there for each other. We'd promised that when Mom first got sick.

"You sure you're good?"

"Yeah, feeling good," I assured him.

"Welcome to Team Wheezy, man," Jere joked, and I pushed him away in jest.

I snorted, running my hand through my hair. "You don't even have asthma anymore, doofus. You haven't used an inhaler since you were, like, ten."

Jere shrugged, a smile still on his face. "Been there, done that."

I rolled my eyes, thankful for his humor. The last thing I wanted right now was for everyone to be doting over me, looking at me like I might shatter at any moment.

"Laurel grabbed lobster rolls from Finz if you're hungry," he offered, motioning behind him.

"I feel like I could eat forever right now," I commented, nodding toward the door. "My appetite is dialed up to eleven. It's like the worst case of the munchies."

Jere led the way into the hall and down the stairs. "I remember when Mom got her appetite back during chemo. She ate an entire pineapple pizza."

"You were trying so hard not to be mad because you'd just gotten home from practice and were looking forward to leftovers," I laughed, which sent me into a coughing fit. I grabbed the banister, cleared my throat, and took a few tiny breaths to make sure my lungs weren't closing.

Jere turned to face me, and I sensed him asking me if I was sure I was alright without him having to say a word.

"Not the end of the world, Jere. It's no different than when you used to get sick. Besides, you owe me a game of Dutch Blitz. I call dibs on the red wagon."

Jere laughed and shook his head. "Mom outlawed it after Steven broke his finger three summers ago, remember? She said it was too violent. Plus, I'm the red wagon. You can be the blue hoe."

"Um, it's a plough," I corrected cheekily. "Hoes are hand tools."

Unable to contain his laugher and a grin, because if anyone's mind was gonna go there, it was Jere's, he nodded, adding, "Hand tools. Yes, yes they are."

I softly whacked him upside the head, glaring at him while I held back my laughter as Mom emerged from the kitchen.

"What's so funny?" she asked, and I was happy to see that glow in her eyes again, the one that always appeared when she was content. Her summer eyes. She always said this house was magical, and I was convinced it was because of her. "You're looking so much better, Connie," she commented, coming over to brush my hair out of my face. "I can make you a plate. We ordered–"

"Finz," I interrupted quietly. "I know. Jere told me. It smells amazing."

"You should eat something before you take your steroids," she explained as we walked, and I could sense Jere tense up beside me. The most he had to take when he was sick as a kid was antibiotics and the medicine in his inhaler and nebulizer. The mention of steroids was definitely reminding him of mom's months of chemo. I'd been at school, away for much of it this time, but Jere hadn't. He'd taken the brunt of Mom's sickness and Dad's bitterness instead of me.

When I looked up, my eyes met Belly's across the kitchen. She bit her bottom lip as she waited her turn to make a plate. I got in line behind her, grabbing my own plate and a napkin, willing her to say something, anything, first.