backed
out of the driveway.
Lincoln waved good-bye and trudged up the steps. The new job sucked. Not the
job itself. Hard work never bothered Lincoln. It was the stares, the whispers, the
lack of eye contact.
Mitch had gone out on a limb to get him the job. Lincoln had to give the man
credit. People were going to talk, and it would"ve been easier to avoid the entire
situation than back Lincoln with a job offer. The least he could do was not complain
about some assholes.
The house was quiet as he stepped inside. Unease settled in his gut. The house
was never this calm. Not with three kids. The words from the note Jay Miller had
shown him in the bar"s bathroom replayed in his head. He strode down the hall and
stopped just short of slamming Jessica"s door in when he heard her giggle.
He breathed deep and stepped back. He didn"t need to scare the shit out of the
kids. All for what? Typed lines of text meant to torment more than anything else?
Was that all it was? Should he call the police?
No. The look on Jay"s face in the bar the other night said all he needed to
know. The man didn"t deserve the hassle of questions from the cops. And what if
someone in Jay"s family or his in-laws had sent the notes? They were people Lincoln
had hurt. People who had been through enough pain.
He went to the kitchen and pulled out the fixings for a sandwich. He was
slathering on the mayonnaise when he caught sight of the piece of paper taped to
the front of the fridge. In the middle of coloring book pages, school spelling lists, and
pizza joint magnets was another note, the front typed with one name: McCaw.
His hand shook as he reached for it. Nancy wouldn"t just leave it hanging there
for him. No envelope, no address. This one hadn"t come in the mail.
Someone had been in the house.
He yanked the note off, the piece of tape giving way and ripping the corner of
the pristine paper. He flipped it open.
You should keep a better eye on your family…and their medical necessities. She
can’t breathe all that well without her inhalers, huh? Such a shame. I hope more
don’t end up missing.
Breathe
59
Lincoln crushed the note in his fist and stormed toward the bedrooms. This
time he didn"t hesitate. He shoved in Jessica"s door. She sat in a small plastic chair
at a table no taller than his kneecaps, Davy opposite her. The boy"s surprised,
mortified expression could"ve been from the way Lincoln had busted into the room
or because Davy wore a pink feathered scarf around his neck and an equally pink
cowgirl hat. Mr. Wuzzie, dressed the same in purple, sat in a chair between the two
kids. All had miniature yellow teacups and plates of chocolate brownies on the table
in front of them—even the plush toy.
What mattered to Lincoln was the inhaler sitting on Jessica"s bedside table.
Right where it was supposed to be.
Davy"s lips were smothered with chocolate. “I just wanted the brownies.” He
pointed at his sister. “She wouldn"t let me have any unless I played her stupid
games.”
“I didn"t use the kitchen oven,” Jessica said. “Honest, Uncle Lincoln. We used
my little oven this time.”
Lincoln found his voice. “You been in here since school ended?”
“Mostly,” Davy said. He unwrapped the scarf from around his neck.
“Anyone come by the house?”
Davy snatched Mr. Wuzzie"s brownie and said, “Nope.”
Lincoln wanted to rip the chocolate snack from the kid"s hand and throw it
across the room. He held back the instinct. This wasn"t their fault. It was his. “You
didn"t answer the door or anything?”
Jessica shook her head.
Lincoln backed out the doorway. “Where"s Adam?”
“In his room,” she said. “Davy! You can"t have no more unless you play right.”
Davy wound the scarf around his neck again and took a bite of the brownie
he"d confiscated.
Lincoln left them to their party and headed to the living room. He did a once-
over on all the windows and doors, checking for signs
out of the driveway.
Lincoln waved good-bye and trudged up the steps. The new job sucked. Not the
job itself. Hard work never bothered Lincoln. It was the stares, the whispers, the
lack of eye contact.
Mitch had gone out on a limb to get him the job. Lincoln had to give the man
credit. People were going to talk, and it would"ve been easier to avoid the entire
situation than back Lincoln with a job offer. The least he could do was not complain
about some assholes.
The house was quiet as he stepped inside. Unease settled in his gut. The house
was never this calm. Not with three kids. The words from the note Jay Miller had
shown him in the bar"s bathroom replayed in his head. He strode down the hall and
stopped just short of slamming Jessica"s door in when he heard her giggle.
He breathed deep and stepped back. He didn"t need to scare the shit out of the
kids. All for what? Typed lines of text meant to torment more than anything else?
Was that all it was? Should he call the police?
No. The look on Jay"s face in the bar the other night said all he needed to
know. The man didn"t deserve the hassle of questions from the cops. And what if
someone in Jay"s family or his in-laws had sent the notes? They were people Lincoln
had hurt. People who had been through enough pain.
He went to the kitchen and pulled out the fixings for a sandwich. He was
slathering on the mayonnaise when he caught sight of the piece of paper taped to
the front of the fridge. In the middle of coloring book pages, school spelling lists, and
pizza joint magnets was another note, the front typed with one name: McCaw.
His hand shook as he reached for it. Nancy wouldn"t just leave it hanging there
for him. No envelope, no address. This one hadn"t come in the mail.
Someone had been in the house.
He yanked the note off, the piece of tape giving way and ripping the corner of
the pristine paper. He flipped it open.
You should keep a better eye on your family…and their medical necessities. She
can’t breathe all that well without her inhalers, huh? Such a shame. I hope more
don’t end up missing.
Breathe
59
Lincoln crushed the note in his fist and stormed toward the bedrooms. This
time he didn"t hesitate. He shoved in Jessica"s door. She sat in a small plastic chair
at a table no taller than his kneecaps, Davy opposite her. The boy"s surprised,
mortified expression could"ve been from the way Lincoln had busted into the room
or because Davy wore a pink feathered scarf around his neck and an equally pink
cowgirl hat. Mr. Wuzzie, dressed the same in purple, sat in a chair between the two
kids. All had miniature yellow teacups and plates of chocolate brownies on the table
in front of them—even the plush toy.
What mattered to Lincoln was the inhaler sitting on Jessica"s bedside table.
Right where it was supposed to be.
Davy"s lips were smothered with chocolate. “I just wanted the brownies.” He
pointed at his sister. “She wouldn"t let me have any unless I played her stupid
games.”
“I didn"t use the kitchen oven,” Jessica said. “Honest, Uncle Lincoln. We used
my little oven this time.”
Lincoln found his voice. “You been in here since school ended?”
“Mostly,” Davy said. He unwrapped the scarf from around his neck.
“Anyone come by the house?”
Davy snatched Mr. Wuzzie"s brownie and said, “Nope.”
Lincoln wanted to rip the chocolate snack from the kid"s hand and throw it
across the room. He held back the instinct. This wasn"t their fault. It was his. “You
didn"t answer the door or anything?”
Jessica shook her head.
Lincoln backed out the doorway. “Where"s Adam?”
“In his room,” she said. “Davy! You can"t have no more unless you play right.”
Davy wound the scarf around his neck again and took a bite of the brownie
he"d confiscated.
Lincoln left them to their party and headed to the living room. He did a once-
over on all the windows and doors, checking for signs
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