Mom gave me a long look. “He’s the real deal for you, huh?”
“Oh, yeah.”
She nodded, her eyes softening. “I felt that way about your dad. It’s a good sign.”
For the next few hours we talked, pulling out our memories like forgotten photo albums. It felt good to be with her and to see her sober and herself again. The blank look was gone from her face, and her eyes were clear and alive. It was more than I’d hoped for, and whatever I thought about Billy, I was thankful he seemed to be taking care of her. It was hard to admit, but I was happier now than I’d been in a long time. Years. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d taken on with my mom until I backed away. It felt good to worry about myself for once.
The sun went down, and the shadows began to yawn and stretch across the thin carpet. My last night in Creek View had begun. I couldn’t eat much of the dinner Mom tried to give me—I was too wound up about everything. I remembered Chris being like that on his last night too. I’d been frustrated that he was so distracted, but now I understood. It was a lot to process. Getting what you’ve always wanted, after wanting it for so long that the wanting was imprinted on your very being—it was too much.
By the time I got back to the Paradise, my eyes were puffy and red from saying good-bye to my mom and Dylan. I was exhausted, but anxious to see Josh and milk as much time as I could out of the hours that remained for us. I walked in through the back gate and was halfway to my room when I saw him standing on top of the flat roof that covered the bank of guest rooms. His back was to me, and he was looking over the orchard, his arms crossed, toward the mountains that towered over the valley. It was still a little light outside, the sky a purplish gray, but there was already a sliver of moon and a handful of stars. A warm breeze made music out of the leaves in the orchard and—so faint I almost thought I’d imagined it—a train whistle blew.
I walked to the ladder Josh had propped up against the building and climbed it slowly, one hand over the other. The wind muffled my ascent so that when I got to the top, he still hadn’t turned around. For a moment I just stood there, watching him. It was easy to imagine he was a general surveying a conquered land. Back straight, legs spread slightly apart, he looked down on the flat fields, the winding creek, and over the highway that was an endless black river slicing through all of it. The red and white lights from the cars sparkled in a friendly sort of way, giving us conspiratorial winks as they passed by. He stood over it all, watching. Waiting.
I walked over and slipped my arms around him so that my hands rested on his chest, my head between his shoulder blades. I felt his heartbeat in the palm of my hand, strong and steady. He put his hands over mine and we stood there for a long time, gazing out at the land that had tried—and failed—to conquer us.
Up there, I could see how Creek View had finally taken its proper place within the geography of us. It wasn’t quicksand or an insurmountable mountain, and it wasn’t Afghanistan, with its poppy fields and bombs. It was just a place—a part of me, a part of Josh, yes, but not big enough to define us. Not small enough to forget about. Together, it would be easy to map out new territory.
A little bit closer to the stars, anything seemed possible.
Acknowledgments
And now for some epic acknowledgments. If this were an Oscar speech, I’d totally be talking over the time-to-shut-up music.
Why did I write this book? And how the hell did I learn to curse so damn well? I come from a military family: both my parents were Marines and I grew up tracing the faded lines of my grandfather’s Marine Corps tattoo. Though I never served, I like to think I have a little oorah in my blood. While the Army is well represented in my family, I’ve always been a bit obsessed with the Marines. Their culture is fascinating, and, let’s be honest, they have the best uniforms (dress blues win hands down every time—ladies, you know what I’m talking about). You don’t have to agree with everything about military culture or the politics/acts of war to appreciate these men and women. I myself struggle with many aspects of what we do and why we do it. But getting to know the Marines and Soldiers who helped with this book and delving deeper into my own family history have opened my eyes to a world I’d shut myself off from for a long time. This is the power of fiction: more than anything, it was Josh Mitchell who made my heart bigger than I thought it could be; as Skylar fell in love with him, so did I. And love changes you, doesn’t it?
One of my earliest memories of my father is seeing him off the day he left to fight in the Persian Gulf. We had a yellow ribbon around the tree in our front yard, and near the end of the war I caught him on CNN, sleeping on a bench in Kuwait (true story). That war was quick (for us) and seemed painless. But then my dad came home. He was only thirty-one, but he’d lost most of his hair, his teeth, his weight, and his hearing. He drank too much. Started doing drugs. He was sad. It took a long time for people to figure out what Gulf War Illness and PTSD were. Back then, we didn’t know how to talk about that. You were a Marine: you could take it. Right? It took me most of my life to realize that there were war wounds that didn’t bleed. I wrote I’ll Meet You There for my dad and for every wounded warrior I’ve talked to or read about or heard telling their story. I wrote it because when the Marine Honor Guard played taps at my grandfather’s funeral and handed my grandmother an American flag it was sad, and awful, and beautiful. I wrote it because young adults are being recruited for the military while they’re still in high school and they need to know what war really is and what it means to serve. I also wrote I’ll Meet You There for the Skylars of the world, the poor kids who count their pennies and have to grow up faster than they should. To all the Chrises and Skys and Dylans of the world I say this: it gets better. Love is medicine and dreams are oxygen.
So this is the part where I thank people. It took a village to write this book. First, to the Marines and Soldiers who shared their experiences with me: it was an honor to hear your stories and I will be forever changed and humbled by them. Your generosity and openness about your service and such a difficult topic as PTSD is what allowed this book to be what it is. Ryan D. Cooper, USMC: I feel like you and Josh would be buddies. You were with me on this from the word go, and I have you to thank the most for helping me get into Josh’s head and for knowing everything from how to get blood off of boots to how many guys are in a squad. Seriously, you rock. Big hug to my BFF from elementary school, Kristin Grantis, for putting us in touch. To Cpl. Frederickson D. E. (Ret.) 3rd Force Reconnaissance: it takes a real badass of a Marine to be willing to read a love story and critique it so well. Thank you for “batshit crazy functional” and other choice phrases, as well as for everything you shared with me about your journey. Talking to you helped me understand the challenges of adjusting to civilian life—once a Marine, always a Marine, right? CW2 Thomas Henderson, Instructor Pilot (U.S. Army): thank you for giving me an idea of what it’s like for a medevac pilot in Afghanistan and for not being weirded out by my very personal questions. Your descriptions of Afghanistan, the people, and what it was like coming home were gorgeous. Thanks to Timme Jacobs for putting us in touch. Kevin Hanrahan: wow. First, let me tell the world how awesome you are. World, meet Kevin Hanrahan: he was a company commander in Iraq and was the Deputy Provost Marshal for U.S. forces in Afghanistan. While in Afghanistan, he played a huge role in spearheading the increased use of dogs there and lobbied the Army to adopt an innovative and lifesaving explosive-detecting dog program. He has served three combat tours and was awarded two Bronze Stars and an Army Commendation Medal for Valor. This all makes me question my life choices. Kevin, thank you for sharing your passion about military dogs (I’ll take them all, please) and your personal story about life once you got home—your continued work on behalf of military dogs and their soldiers is inspiring and SO IMPORTANT.
Now, for my family. My uncle, CW3 Michael J. Edwards (former Marine and currently U.S. Army), for sharing stories of your (three!) deployments to Iraq. My aunt, Wendy Edwards, Army Wife Extraordinaire a
nd civilian who worked for the Marines as a Family Readiness Officer and Readiness and Deployment Trainer: thank you a million times over for answering all my questions about military leave, medical facilities, how IEDs work, and all manner of other random questions. PFC Daniel J. Edwards, my cousin who recently served at Camp Leatherneck in Kandahar Province, Afghanistan: proud of you, cuz. Sgt. Carrie Fry (U.S. Army), for Pashto assistance and sharing stories of your deployment in Afghanistan, and Sgt. Stephen Fry (U.S. Army), for that hilarious reaction to finding out both my parents had been Marines.
This book wouldn’t exist at all, or at least not as you’ve read it, if it weren’t for Shari Becker, Leslie Caulfield, and Jennifer Ann Mann. You gals saw Josh before I ever did. You saw my heart and held it up for me and told me I wasn’t allowed to look away, even though I was scared as hell. I will be forever grateful. Extra thanks to David Fulk, for early input on the manuscript. To my agent, Brenda Bowen: here we are again. Thank you for your astute reads and for reminding me to stay in the writing cave. My editor, Kate Farrell: thank you for wanting to bring this story into the world and for being so enthusiastic about my work. To everyone at Macmillan/Holt, especially Ksenia Winnicki, Stephanie McKinley, and Samantha Mandel: I’m so glad you have Josh’s and Sky’s backs. Amy (A.S.) King: you are boss and so were all your notes. Thanks for being a kickass adviser on this, my creative thesis—shots of Jameson for all! I was so happy to have you with me at the finish line for my MFA, reminding me it was okay to ditch the learn’d astronomers of our world from time to time. Rita Williams-Garcia: your wisdom on my first draft was invaluable and set me up for the most satisfying writing journey I’ve had to date. Amanda (A.M.) Jenkins: giving you a bear hug right now for bringing out the jarhead poet in me like no one could. Patricia Lee Gauch: thank you for telling me to meet my own high standards, for teaching me about ecstatic moments, and for early comments on the manuscript. Kathryn Gaglione: for so much, but especially for getting me in touch with Drew, taking me to Arlington on Memorial Day, and understanding why I was WAY TOO EXCITED to go on a tour of the Marine Corps Museum. You are a gem of a friend. Sarah Roberts: kindred spirit and endless support. Missy Wilmarth: say hi to the Navy SEALs for me (blowing kisses optional) and give a big hug to Jared Wilmarth, PS2 (U.S. Navy).
All my friends and family: there are so many of you who have supported me in these crazy past couple of years. Some of you fielded specific questions, offered encouragement, listened to me vent, beta-read, or did any number of things—thank you. My Twitter, blogger, Goodreads, and YA reader community: you make getting up to work every morning a joy. Thank you for your support and enthusiasm. Wesley Hughes, the “Amp4Life” (amp4life.blogspot.com): thank you for your amazing videos on life as an amputee. Your generosity is astounding and you helped me SO MUCH. This is what the Internet is for. My Allies: when shit goes down, I want you by my side—we make one intimidating army. Thank you for being my literary gun buddies. Group hug for the entire Vermont College of Fine Arts community, my home away from home and second family.
To my husband, Zach—I’ve got you. Thanks for being my wingman. This book broke my heart again and again, but you were always there to put it back together (TS&TM&EO). My mom, for showing me early on that girls can play too. You taught me to hold my head high and never stop fighting, which is why I’m here today, getting to Live My What. My dad, for winning the war inside and for teaching me cadences (and how to curse like a true Devil Dog). Thank you for sharing your story with me—I know it wasn’t always easy to go back there. And, of course, my grandfather Dan Weeks, proud jarhead and first-rate Papa. I miss you every day. You were the epitome of Semper Fidelis.
To the men and women who serve, or have served, in the U.S. armed forces, and to the families of those who have been killed in combat or died as a result of PTSD-related injuries: each word of this book is a token of my gratitude for your service and an effort to honor those who have been lost. I’d like to take an extra moment of silence for the two former students at my high school, Clovis High, who died in combat: Spc. Thomas J. Mayberry (U.S. Army), who was killed in Afghanistan when he was only twenty-one, and Sgt. Steven M. Packer (U.S. Army), who was killed in Iraq. He was twenty-three years old.
Finally, to the Joshes out there: I wish you sleep without nightmares, laughter every day, cold beer on warm summer nights, and love—so much love.
Author’s Note
By the end of April 2014, there were over two thousand U.S. military deaths in Afghanistan and nearly twenty thousand service members were wounded in action.1 In 2012 alone, there were more suicides in the military than deaths in combat, and most of those suicides were young men between eighteen and twenty-four years old.2 As of writing this, more than half of the 2.6 million veterans of the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq struggle with physical or mental health problems related to their service.3 The VA continues to be underfunded, and many veterans fail to receive the quality care they need.
Though I’ve borrowed from many, many sources, Josh is, first and foremost, a creation of my own. However, despite being a fictional character, the challenges he faces are very real, as were the experiences he recounts as a Marine in Afghanistan. Any mistakes I’ve made here regarding the military or the war in Afghanistan are mine alone.
For further research, I recommend the following: David Finkel’s excellent books The Good Soldiers and Thank You for Your Service should be required reading for, well, everyone. I also recommend Outside the Wire: American Soldiers’ Voices from Afghanistan, edited by Christine Dumaine Leche, which is a collection of essays written by soldiers during their combat tours. I am deeply indebted to everyone who participated in and worked on the absolutely phenomenal NPR series about the “Darkhorse” Marine battalion—in fact, all of NPR’s journalism regarding wounded warriors, veterans’ issues, and the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan is top-notch. You would do well to delve into their archives.
I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the other victims of this war: the men, women, and children of Afghanistan. Simply put: theirs isn’t the story I’m telling. But it is a story I want to hear and a very worthy one—a necessary one. Trent Reedy’s critically acclaimed YA novel, Words in the Dust, is a good place to start. Learn more about his incredible experiences as a soldier in Afghanistan that inspired the novel, as well as the work he is doing on behalf of women and children there, at trentreedy.com.
I have done my job here if I’ll Meet You There helps you, in some way, to not forget the Joshes in your community. Please join me in supporting them by giving to the Wounded Warrior Project (woundedwarriorproject.org). This is a wonderful organization that is doing great work on behalf of men and women like Josh Mitchell and their families. Why do we need to do more than read or write a book? David Finkel says it best in Thank You for Your Service: “The truth of war is that it’s always about loving the guy next to you, the truth of the after-war is that you’re on your own.”
Readers: We are the soldiers of the after-war. Fight on.
1 U.S. Department of Defense
2 NPR.org
3 Washington Post/Kaiser Family Foundation
Also by Heather Demetrios
Something Real
About the Author
When she’s not traipsing around the world or spending time in imaginary places, Heather Demetrios lives with her husband in New York City. Originally from Los Angeles, she now calls the East Coast home. Heather has an MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults from Vermont College of Fine Arts and is a recipient of the PEN New England Susan P. Bloom Discovery Award for her debut novel, Something Real. She is the founder of Live Your What, an organization dedicated to fostering passion in people of all ages and creating writing opportunities for low-income youth. You can always find her on Twitter (@HDemetrios) ogling the military dogs she wants to adopt (but can’t because her NYC apartment is way too small). heatherdemetrios.com
Copyright © 2015 by Heather Demetrios
Henry Holt and
Company, LLC
Publishers since 1866
Henry Holt® is a registered trademark of Henry Holt and Company, LLC.
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10010
macteenbooks.com
All rights reserved.
“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing” [6 lines] from A YEAR WITH RUMI: DAILY READINGS by COLEMAN BARKS. Copyright © 2006 by Coleman Barks. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.
eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to [email protected].
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Demetrios, Heather.
I’ll meet you there / Heather Demetrios. — First edition.
pages cm
Summary: Skylar Evans, seventeen, yearns to escape Creek View by attending art school, but after her mother’s job loss puts her dream at risk, a rekindled friendship with Josh, who joined the Marines to get away then lost a leg in Afghanistan, and her job at the Paradise motel lead her to appreciate her home town.
ISBN 978-0-8050-9795-5 (hardback) — ISBN 978-1-62779-292-9 (e-book)
[1. Coming of age—Fiction. 2. Family problems—Fiction. 3. Love—Fiction. 4. Friendship—Fiction. 5. Amputees—Fiction. 6. People with disabilities—Fiction. 7. Hotels, motels, etc.—Fiction.] I. Title. II. Title: I will meet you there.
I’ll Meet You There Page 29