BreathHealer Book I: BreathHealer, #1

By Dezi Golden

Do you have a "tell"? Kai does.

 

The shade of blue in her eyes could reveal her "gift". So far no one knows. She must keep it that way.

 

The town has reticent energy.

The tall, gorgeous stranger could expose her but doesn't.

 

It all awaits discovery in sleepy little Olman, New Mexico.

BreathHealer Book I is an unforgettable novel about the secrets we keep and the honor we so desperately seek.

 

As the story begins, a terribly tragic accident threatens to reveal Kaileigh's lifelong secret. Would you save someone's life if it meant you'd be an imprisoned lab-rat for the rest of yours? As Kai steps into a world of rules, discipline, humility, and respect she discovers there are those who are murderous betrayers hidden amongst those...who would never betray!

 

A spine-tingling story, with hauntingly evil intent, that cannot compete with the greatest of all human experiences - LOVE!

 

BreathHealer Book I will enthrall adults, teens, and anyone who relishes an adventure in love conquering all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dezi Golden
• Release date: Jun 1, 2009
• ISBN: 9781456578824

Dezi Golden

Dezi Golden is an American author who resides in Las Cruces, New Mexico. Her unique growth in treating wellness and intimacy coaching clients combined with personal experiences paves the way for her intriguing novels. To learn more or receive your autographed copy contact Dezi at [e-mail].

Book preview

1. Glance

THEY SAY LOVE IS THE most exquisite of all experiences in life. I wonder if it only happens once or if it only happens for a cluster of times. I don’t know. Maybe love is like a child. My father used to say, We only have our children for a short while and then they are released into the world. They are fortunate if they are taught how to love. They will have all they need.

Love is the thing...it’s everything.

I exhale slow and long. My heart aches. Dad is still gone. His lessons are in my head, yet his silence is deafening. Day after day, moment by moment, morning after quiet morning. I hear his voice telling me how lucky we are to come in contact with the souls we do even if only for a moment, or a day. The impression can last lifetimes. I remember profoundly how he whispered to me one sunny day as we walked, Kai, when humans show you who they really are...see. I open my eyes suddenly and his voice, which I could almost hear, is gone. He is still gone. No soft snoring down the hall. No clinking spoon stirring in his morning coffee cup. Gone. Silence. I turn to my side to look out my tiny bedroom window. I'm awake again, even before the sun.

Were you a moment-like soul Dad? Was your love meant to be here only for a moment in time? I whisper into the darkness of my room. Silence still. The silence is the hardest part of mourning. And of my mornings.

Knowing I will only sink into a dawdling cry, I pull the covers down and move out of bed for a quick distraction. There is no more sleep for me this day. Coffee and a positive attitude are what I need. I push the heartache away and lightly paddle my slipper clad feet toward the kitchen.

I look out the tiny kitchen window toward the New Mexico mountains, I can’t help noticing the old blue ford parked across the way in the middle of the driveway. I stare at it while I rinse the coffee pot in the sink. I’ve always liked old trucks, to me they show character. This '65 Chevy with its wide-mouth grimace is especially interesting. The corroded edges are brown and red colors that contrast well with the royal blue body. The rust seems to reflect the crimson dirt of the long driveway too.

Here it is again, 5:03 AM. I’m up...wandering the house, trying to keep quiet. Dad’s drowning last year devastated me. My heart is broken in ways I could never explain to anyone. At times I don't even know how I survive the grief. I just keep going day after day. Dad would want that much. One foot in front of the other, he would say.

I like the shabby rental trailer we live in now. It isn’t nearly as nice as our old two-story house, but it suites the five of us fine. I think it's peculiar how much life transforms after the passing of a loved one. Dad pretty much brought in all the income. We had a comfortable lifestyle back then. He was an herbalist; completely dedicated to the medicinal and therapeutic uses of plants and dispensing herbal prescriptions to patients. He was the only one in Olman, New Mexico. My mother, Terrie, was his assistant, bookkeeper, that kind of stuff. Now though, she works for the local PicMart. Life is different.

I'm not sure why we moved to this side of town. We always had money so I don’t think it was expenses. Part of me feels like its Mom’s way of putting distance between the present and the life she had with Dad. Getting away from all his patients and people who feel they know us. It's another uncomfortable change to go along with all the others.

I think I’m holding it together pretty well now. I cry when I need to, for the most part. Some days were better than others. Mom isn’t doing as well. She prefers to self-medicate with cheap wine and light beer, just about every night since the funeral in October. The substances do not bring out her most attractive side and quite honestly, I hate the sloppy state she winds up in most nights. When she isn’t working, she hibernates in her room with a tiny television and alcohol. The weekends are the roughest. She's here...but not. She doesn’t talk much anymore. When she does say something, it usually hurts deeply. She wreaks, full of liquid anger and self-pity.

I don’t think any of us know what will help her. I think time will be the only hope for Mom. And that's what we give her. Time and space. I stay clear of her as much as I can so I don’t hurt more than I have to. She has some new hatred towards me. It feels more intense than years prior. Gram says it's because of my eyes. Whatever that means.

Dad, Gram, and I, we all have the same eyes. My mother rarely looks into mine anymore. It hurts because she's my parent and I need her. She's supposed to be here for me now, but it's always been the Terrie show. With Dad gone, the curtain dropped some. It's sad, quite sad to see.

Grandma KiKi is one tough cookie; she holds our house, and my mother, together. She’s my Dad’s mom and the only person on this earth that knows me. Gram is a short, stubby little woman, feisty and full of life. She's strong too. She is positive and trustworthy. I hear her cry in her room at times, but she always comes out all smiles like there's nothing wrong. I know she misses her son terribly. I can't even imagine her pain.

Mom lost her husband, Deana and I lost our dad, but Gram, Gram lost her only child. And she still moves around in the world grateful for each day. She's been teaching me to cherish the memories I have of my dad, like the day he surprised me with the dune buggy or the time he scooped me up in his embrace and told me how proud he was of me for saving my sister from the bullies on the bus. We indulge in our memories, but Gram always encourages me to go forward making new ones. It's hard to go on but she's right and I listen to her. She has a strength that inspires me.

I smile and continue to think of her as one dish clanks with another as I wash them in the sink. Our kitchen doesn't have a dishwasher yet. I'm hoping to change that soon with a summer job.

Deana is not only dealing with the loss of our dad, but she is also a single parent and my dad was the only positive male role model in her daughter Cassie's life. Deana had the misfortune of falling in love with a man that needed more than one woman’s attention. She found out in time not to marry him. Then, a month later, she found out she would be mending more than a broken heart.

At the time, Mom made a huge dramatic stink over Deana being pregnant. I guess other people's knowing was supposed to be horrible. Dad said babies are life and true blessings and put Mom in her place. Cassie Kai came into our family and enhanced all of our lives. She distracts her mother from her sadness, which works well in her life at this time. Having a child around our house brightens the atmosphere. Cassie helps everyone appreciate life’s little moments. She's amazing to me. She is a wonderfully innocent and curious child.

Out the window I see the sun gaping from behind the mountain peaks. The warm water washes over my hands and splashes against the walls of the sink. Inhaling deeply, I feel my body waking more. I shift to my other leg deep in thought.

Olman has been my home since birth. It's a fairly large city, about 31,000 residents. It takes thirty minutes to get to the boundary lines of the city in all directions. Olman is essentially made up of two things: space and desert. Still, it has all the essentials: hospitals, wholesale stores, bookstores, and restaurants. The people are clever, friendly, and relaxed, but a touch gossipy since it's still a small town. The sun affects the way of life here. It's bright and scorching. It has a power that draws people toward it. I've never gone far from the West in my life. I have to admit, I am curious about other states and countries, but Olman is magical. It's home.

Moving to the East side of Olman was different. I mean, sure, living in a rented trailer, in what feels like a rented trailer park, is surreal like living on a movie set instead of a real town with people, but something feels very different here. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe it's slumberous somehow. No more customers. No more big house. No more Dad.

I finish the last dish and mindlessly rub my hands under the faucet water, watching the air go by. The light overhead flickers. My mind returns to the moment at hand. Today is the day I have to investigate what is going on with that faulty light bulb. I take a deep breath to clear my lungs. I move toward the bathroom then stop when something catches my eye out of the window. The old man from the farmhouse across the street is outside. He stumbles out of his screen door and down the steps to that classic Ford I like so much. Curious where he is going at such an early hour, I slowly crane my neck to watch him. I wonder to myself if the rest of the world wakes each day as early as I do. He places his hand on the side of the truck and moves closer to the driver’s side door. He looks hurt as he limps with each new step. Perhaps he's worn more than his years. His frail body is slow and anomalous, working against his balance instead of in unison. I watch, curious how the old truck will start. I'm not disappointed to hear it sputter to a rumble. I wait expecting a big cloud of smoke to release from the back pipe, but it doesn't appear. I smile. The old guy has a good engine in it even though the body needs a couple of patches here and there. He puts it into gear and drives out of his dirt driveway onto Dun Road, heading toward town.

Is he going to work? Going to pray? I remember seeing that old truck parked at Gilda’s Roadside Diner on occasion; maybe he is in for one of Gilda’s incredible omelets. It's a fine morning. The sun is making its final emergence above the mountain peaks. It looks like the beginning of a beautiful day.

I turn in the direction of my shower pivoting on my heel. There is a popping sound and looking down I lift my foot to find that I had twirled on one of my mother’s beer bottle caps. There's another one that didn't make it to the garbage. She's a terrible shot, always has been. Disgusted, I bend down to pick it up and hear a door slam outside. When I peer out the window, I see two guys talking on the porch of the old farmhouse where the old man just came from. I wonder if they're relatives? The last one out of the house is standing on the porch, resting on crutches. The other male is laughing hysterically. He slinks down the front porch steps and hops onto a black and blue Harley Davidson motorcycle. I recognize it right away. I know my bikes and this one certainly has my attention. It's a Fat Boy, a well-kept 2005. I'm impressed. One, because from my distance the bike is shining with upgrades, second the driver is visually attractive, but that could be my seventeen-year-old hormones. Very impressive! I'm more than happy to continue my people-watching. I have over three hours before school starts anyway. Sliding the window open, it shrieks in a high pitched whine that could wake the entire trailer park and sends a chill up my spine. I stop and listen, hearing no one I resume my staring across the road.

The older looking of the two guys is on the porch. He seems practiced as he maneuvers around on crutches. I guess they aren't new crutches. They are the kind that enclose your elbows and look rather permanent. He uses them to gesture while speaking. He lifts one or the other as he talks without losing balance. It's comical.

The large one on the bike nods in agreement with the other. He puts on a black and blue helmet, tightening the straps. I'm impressed that he wears a helmet while riding. Here in New Mexico, especially in the town of Olman, helmets are not mandatory. As a practical girl, I wear a helmet every time I ride. It just makes sense. 

I try harder to listen; I even try squinting hoping it will help me pry into their conversation. I really can’t make out the words but it's clear they are sharing a joke. They're joyously exchanging expressions with hand gestures and hearty laughter.

It's nice to see such a happy moment so early in the morning. There is an entire road between my trailer park and their farmhouse so I don’t know what more I'm expecting to get out of their discussion. I'm so curious as to what the two were saying. I guess it is just nice to see others happy.

The muscular one on the motorcycle starts the bike, waves, and loops around to the driveway’s end. I'm clinging to the sink with half my face almost pressed against the kitchen window.  He looks left, turns to look the other way but stops, and suddenly looks straight toward me. Oh, my gosh! He’s looking right at me! I duck quicker than I ever imagined I could, holding my chin close to the faucet. I must've looked idiotic, staring out the window at him with my dark hair toppled on the crown of my head, strands wispy and falling over my face. I hold my breath and listen for the bike to accelerate and drive away. My heart starts to thump in my chest and my curiosity gets the better of me. I creep slowly up to peer out the window again.

Arghhh! There he is still looking! Before I can lower myself into a full faucet tribulation, I see him gently raise his left hand. His motion startles me and I watch him. He raises his hand higher then gives me a slight wave as if to say Hi! My cheeks feel hot with embarrassment. I'm appalled! He then puts the bike in gear and drives off. I'm left standing dumbstruck, searching the air for what just happened. I move my eyes frantically back and forth. Did he see me? I huff realizing that I'm probably the only person with a light on in the entire neighborhood so of course, he would notice. Ugh, gotta get curtains! I turn and then head for the bathroom. I feel a smile begin at the corners of my mouth at how incredibly silly the whole incident was...with just a glance.

2. Bizarre

TURNING OFF THE WATER I reach for a towel. After drying off, I wrap it around me and find my way through the steam to the mirror. As I wipe a circle into the mirror, I am bemused at the bags under my eyes. Little gifts from another restless night. I think I'm doing well considering I had five hours of sleep, instead of only the usual three. I hope I start sleeping more someday soon. It's been months since Dad’s passing. What am I still losing sleep over?

Despite the dark circles under my eyes, I feel pretty good. People always comment on my eyes. The pale blue is somehow exotic to many. It's comical that others feel the need to clue me in on my features. I laugh at the comments. Oh my gosh! Look at your eyes or Where did you get that color, like I ordered it online or from a catalog. It's flattering at times, though I've had these eyes for the last seventeen years so I've heard a lot. When I was little, it used to creep me out. I’ve accepted that they are... how shall I put it, different, but being asked or told about them daily gets tedious. I just smile as Dad did. Gram and he had the same eyes as me too. A family trait so I’ve been told. Gram is funny about it, she kind of whispers when she speaks of them like our eyes are sacred. I am grateful to have them though. They remind me of Dad when I look in the mirror.

After deciding to let my long locks dangle carelessly for the day, I apply a little makeup. It always makes Grandma KiKi happy when I use just enough makeup to enhance my natural look. I don’t do it for her really; I like the artistic nuance of it, but it's nice to see her smile. I throw on my skinny jeans, pour my upper half into my favorite push-up bra, and chose a black baby doll tee for the day. I finish my look with my favorite hoop earrings and a necklace. I'm not big into the girlie styles, but I do like just enough to keep the femininity going. I put on my black motorcycle boots and then huff a laugh at how not feminine they are. Grabbing my leather jacket, I head towards Cassie’s room.

I help Cassie-Kai get herself dressed and seat her at the table with a bowl of apple cinnamon oatmeal. It's her favorite. I like to give my sister the extra few minutes she needs in the morning. Being a Monday, she's not moving fast or coherent yet. Deana gives me a quick kiss on the cheek, a thank you, before grabbing her coffee cup. I get a cold, wet kiss from Cassie too and it evens out my validation. I love my family. Terrie fell away some, but Deana, Cassie, Gram, and I are very tight-knit. Dad always encouraged it. Mom just stopped trying.

Grandma KiKi shuffles through the door in her most embarrassing floral bathrobe to date, with a matching turban wrap on her head. Both are an obnoxious color of peach, but I have to give her props for at least matching. She glances at me and I see the wrinkles on the sides of her eyes become more pronounced as she gently smiles. She's showing her eighty-six years, but her spirit is young. She is tan from the New Mexico sun or toaster looking as Cassie-Kai would say. I love Gram because she is unconditional in her love every single day. I know it's where my father got it. Like mother like son I guess. Her gaze is different today, longer than usual, like she is searching my face for some type of answer.

Her head tilts to the side as she says, Today is going to be a day of mystifying events for you, my beautiful Kai. She said the strangest things sometimes. We are all so used to it though. She often makes me feel like she knows more about what is going on inside my crazy head than I do. I don’t question her. I just trust her. I trust her as much as I trusted my father. To the core. Only the two of them know about my birth gift. Well...now only Grandma KiKi does.

I decide to skip breakfast at home this morning and take a little more time on the way into school. It's such a sunny, alluring day out I really can't wait to get on Teddy. I kiss my morning companions goodbye and grab my leather jacket and helmet. I get the usual Be safe Kai! from them all as I leave. Terrie, of course, is still slumbering.

I think most girls my age want a horse named Teddy. Me...well, I'll never claim to be normal. My Teddy is my little Honda CBR 600 motorcycle. She keeps me traveling every day. She listens to my babbling, and she has even gotten me out of some pretty precarious situations here and there. I love my motorcycle. I love the New Mexico sun. Together, both keep me feeling free.

I do a lot of thinking on my rides. Most of my healing from my father’s drowning has been done while riding Teddy and volleying my life events in my mind. It's all still very overwhelming for me. My heart is broken. It may have something to do with the tragic mysterious circumstances surrounding Dad's death; but, I think it has more to do with his early passing and that I am only seventeen and need his guidance. Oh, and then there is the whole part where he was the most amazing human I ever knew. I squeeze my burning eyelids tight. No tears today Kai.

I wipe Teddy clean of the dust that blew on her overnight; it’s the windy season here. Garages in trailer parks aren’t common so I have to put up with Teddy suffering through the wind storms now and then. I zip my leather up and start the ignition. She purrs to a start, faithful as always. I put on my helmet and fasten the strap. With the release of the kickstand, I ready myself for the ride to Olman High. There are only a few weeks of my junior year and I'm looking forward to the summer break. As I pull away, I give the two-beep for Cassie. She loves it when I do that for her. It's our goodbye.

I come to a stop at the exit driveway of Romero Trailer Park. Romero is a quaint little neighborhood, not many residents, maybe twenty-five tops. When we moved, I was glad that I didn't have to change schools. At least that much stayed the same. I don’t care where we live as long as we're together. Family is everything Dad used to say.

Before taking off down Dun Road, I pause to look over at the farmhouse again across the road. I remember the odd reaction I had a few hours earlier. I'm mortified again just thinking of being caught staring by the gorgeous Harley guy. He hadn’t returned yet. The old blue Ford is parked back in its spot. I assume the old man returned from Gilda’s, or from getting a newspaper, or something. I don’t know why I even care really, it's just another day. I've seen the old farm every day since I moved here, but never anyone who lived there. I probably never paid attention. So I wonder what made today any different. Bizarre.

3. Liger

THE RIDE INTO SCHOOL clears my mind. I round the parking lot and drive up to the front to find a spot for Teddy near the entrance and picnic tables. I'm currently the only junior girl to ride a motorcycle to school, but I'm hoping to change that soon. I’ve been working on my friends. They could be a bit more adventurous in my book. Most still take the bus. They complain about it too, at least once a week. At this age, I feel it's an independence issue. They would be much happier with their own transportation and freedom. Being juniors, they can't park at school though. The administration says it's because there isn't enough space. Having a motorcycle is different. There are plenty of spaces for bikes. I've mentioned it a few times to my friends since August, but I generally just get eye-rolls.

All six of them, my core group, are sitting at our usual picnic table. I guess they are my core group or main clique, so it’s called. I love that each of us is so different. We're a very diverse group and it's nice. I find it heartening to see them all sitting together this morning. We're a collection of Olman’s teen scene. We aren't criminals. We don't smoke or do drugs. We don’t pick on others. We're a young group trying to make it through high school. We lean on each other and hang out.

Hey, blue eyes! Jumar squeals in his most maidenly voice yet. He adds an inane wave to match his flighty greeting. There it is, the eyes comment. I'm not even off my bike yet and my half-wit middle-eastern buddy already starts it off.

Jumaaaarr, buddy, how are you this fine Monday morning?

Great! I kissed her!! He says with wild-eyed excitement.

Really? I muse. Do tell.

Yup, right there...in front of her house after dinner! Kai it was claaaaassssic! My little feminine friend is a lady killer. Girls see something in him they have to have. Jumar always has a date or a girl on his arm, and I can’t for the life of me figure it out. He just has something. I do like Jumar and his craziness. He is an all-around fun person and sends me into such laughing jags sometimes. He isn’t out to hurt anyone and doesn’t even care much what others think of him and his fanatical outfits. I love that about him.

Awe, that is so romantic studly, are you two going out again?

Uh, haven’t figured that one out yet. She...uh...well she chews with her mouth open and ugh, I could see the food rolling around and eeewww....

Oh, wow, but you still kissed her. A statement, not a question.

Well, yeah, I mean opportunity baby, can't pass up a kissing frenzy! I roll my eyes and he giggles while hip-bumping me. Jumar is the first to know how crazy he is and I'm not about to judge him. We’ve known each other since kindergarten, so I'm more aware of his insanity than most.

We walk over to the others. "Look, I brought you a banana and OJ." Jumar changes the subject as we come closer to them. I take the hint.

Awesome, I say as I tussle his already messy hair. The others look over then. By the stares, I can tell they think it strange that Jumar brings me breakfast. Best friends do for each other in my world, so I don’t pay much attention to the stares.

Kai, how do you eat like that every day? Teana wrinkles her nose at me. She's quick to speak first and think later. It's funny how much I irk her.

Well Teana, nature is the essence of life right? I wanna live long, pop tarts and chocolate milk would never do it. I shoot her a smirk and she knows to drop it. Teana doesn’t mess with me very often, she knows better. We're friends by association so we give each other space.

Andy Mara interrupts with his usual humor, Could be the Hawaiian part huh Kai? I mean don’t you rub pineapple in your hair and stuff to get it that shiny? Andy likes to tease me. Somehow, he finds an opportunity to bring up my half-breed status, or my Hawaiian looks, at least once a week. If I were a more insecure girl it would bother me. To be honest, both Teana and Andy are more of my frenemies than friends. I somehow bother both of them. I figure things will work themselves out in time. Both reek of low self-esteem. I figure it will pass after high school. Everyone else is cool though.

Morgan Stiles, Jordan White, and Drew Dynik are sitting on the bench of the picnic table, joyously cracking jokes with one another. After putting my jacket and helmet to the side, I sit on the table with Jumar to have our light breakfast. I enjoy our little group each morning. Well, except for the frenemies part. It is high school after all, so there will be some discomfort. Put a bunch of different personalities together, teach them math and English without much sociology or psychology and there will be more issues than acceptance. At least that's the way I see it. It's all good.

Jumar and I grub together. I try to only put natural food in my body. It worked for my ancestors. They had no cancers, no diseases, most just died in their sleep of old age. Peacefully. I think it would be nicer to die in my sleep when I am maybe, a hundred. The thought makes me smile. Jumar has