Heartbeat

Breeze Quehpa dragged her feet as she traversed the crowded halls of the William Fairchild Airport in Port Angeles. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want be home in Boston either. She didn't want to be anywhere, really. What she wanted was to cease existing. She wanted her heart to stop aching and the memories to stop haunting her. Mom and Michael thought she was like some kind of defective equipment they could just ship back to the manufacturer to get fixed, but she wasn't. Breeze was human, and broken beyond repair. Sending her back to La Push wouldn't fix anything.

Absentmindedly, she rubbed the thumb of her left hand against the wrist of her right as she waited in front of the baggage claim. The angry red scar that took up residence there was the only one of the five she possessed that had been self-inflicted. Quil and Aunt Joy probably already knew how it had gotten there. Mom would have told them. Breeze only hoped they wouldn't ask her about it because she had no intention of talking about it. She had no intention of talking at all, actually.

After a little while, she saw her blue duffel bag glide past on the conveyor belt. She reached out, hooked her fingers through the handle, and hoisted it away from the rest of the circling bags and on to her shoulder. A glance at the screen of her cell phone revealed a text message from Aunt Joy stating that she would be waiting by the vending machines at the entrance to Gate C. Breeze contemplating ignoring the message, hailing a taxi, and never looking back but ultimately decided against it. She saw Aunt Joy exactly where she'd said she'd be and shuffled over as slow as she possibly could.

"Breeze, it's so good to see you," Aunt Joy engulfed her in a warm hug, "How are you?"

Breeze raised her eyebrows.

"That was a stupid question," Aunt Joy decided, "Forget I asked. Anyway, Quil is super excited to see you. He's missed you."

Breeze merely nodded in response. Aunt Joy took her hand gently and began to lead her through the throngs of people toward the exit and out to the parking lot.

"He's not home now, of course, but you'll see him tomorrow. Quil is ..." She trailed off, seemingly unsure of what to say, "working late tonight."

Breeze put her duffel in the back seat of Aunt Joy's old Camry and then slipped into the front. The ride back to La Push took just over an hour and Aunt Joy did not try to talk to her anymore on the way there, which Breeze was grateful for. She did shoot a few concerned glances her way at red lights and stop signs but Breeze pretended not to notice. As they drove past the Welcome to La Push sign, Breeze breathed out a sigh of relief. She couldn't wait to be alone in the guest room.

The Ateara house looked just as Breeze remembered it, though twelve years had passed since she'd last been there. The same weathered welcome sign still hung on the front door. Quil's shoes were still scattered haphazardly just inside. Aunt Joy didn't even try to move them, apparently she'd given up on trying to clean up after Quil. It had always been near impossible. They stepped over the array of large sneakers and Breeze followed Aunt Joy into the guest room.

"It's late and I'm sure you're tired," Aunt Joy began, "You should get some rest. I won't bother you about it, Breeze, but I want you to know that whenever you're ready to talk about it, I'm here."

Breeze nodded and watched as Aunt Joy disappeared down the hall. She dug her pajamas out of her bag and set them on the bed. The clock on the side table told her in glowing green numerals that Aunt Joy was right, she should get some rest. Sleep, however, had not been a friend to Breeze in a great while. Every time she closed her eyes she was underneath him again, fighting for every breath and begging him to stop. She would wake with a jolt, salty tears running down her cheeks. It was better, she thought, to keep her eyes open. Resting was not an option.

Instead, Breeze slipped the sneakers she had previously kicked off back on to her feet. She opened the bedroom door soundlessly and peered down the hall to Aunt Joy's room. The door was shut and no light peeked from underneath. She was asleep. Breeze breathed a sigh of relief and tiptoed down the stairs. A small light was left on in the kitchen, presumably so Quil wouldn't be in the dark when he came home. Breeze left it alone and opened the back door slowly so it wouldn't squeak. She closed it just as slowly and walked across the back yard to the path in the trees that led to the beach.

Her mind wandered to a time when she had been a carefree little girl, only five years old. Quil, Embry, and Jacob had raced her down this path more times than she could count. She found herself wishing that Mom had never met Michael, never married him. Things could have been so different if they'd never left the reservation. Breeze could have been different if they'd never left the reservation.

The trees opened up ahead of her and the brown earth gave way to white sand. Breeze took her sneakers off and reveled in the feeling of the sand between her toes. She made her way to the water's edge and let the cool waves lap at her ankles. The moon illuminated the ocean in front of her brilliantly. For the first time in a long time, Breeze felt at home. She felt like she belonged. A content sigh escaped her lips and she took a step back before sinking down to a sitting position.

The quiet was a welcome reprieve from the noise of the city. Breeze had never really gotten used to the lights and sounds of Boston. She'd missed the sounds of the chirping crickets, softly hooting owls, and gentle waves rolling ashore. She closed her eyes and exhaled, appreciating the serenity of it all, when the crack of a breaking stick startled her. She was not alone. Her eyes darted across the tree line. She expected to see a squirrel scurrying away or perhaps even a skunk dawdling along.

Instead, the figure of a tall man with broad shoulders was bathed in moonlight as he stepped out of the woods.