by Mila Gray
I throw off the blanket, wanting to see her, and she obliges by sitting up and straddling me. Holy shit. That’s an incredible view. I slide my hands over the contours of her body and she smiles down on me, her hair like liquid silver flowing over her shoulders. This is how I plan on remembering her.
‘I love you, Kit,’ she says as she lowers herself slowly onto me.
I exhale loudly, more stars bursting on the back of my eyelids than there are in the sky above us. Jessa rocks gently back and forth but soon we’re both breathing fast and she starts driving me deeper, grinding against me as though she can’t get enough. And I grip her hips and pull her down because I can’t get enough of her either and when I open my eyes I see her head is thrown back, her back arched and she’s shivering.
I sit up, clasping her around her waist and then lift her in one swift move, flipping her over and lying her down on the blanket and pushing into her. She cries out and her legs wrap around my waist, drawing me deeper. I want to take her, inhale her, own her. I want to press myself into her flesh like a thumbprint into wet clay, leaving a maker’s mark. I want to take a piece of her with me and leave a piece of me with her. How do I get enough of her to last me a year?
With every thrust I feel her muscles clench around me, the tendons on her neck growing tauter. She’s biting her lip, but when I kiss her neck she lets out a cry that’s loud and uncensored and which brings me straight to the brink.
I know from the way she’s moving, from the way she whispers my name in my ear, that she’s close, and within seconds we both come and collapse, panting, onto the blankets.
‘Holy shit,’ I say, trying to catch my breath.
Jessa laughs, sighing happily.
‘Well, I’ll definitely remember that for a year.’
I roll onto my side and kiss her shoulder. ‘I’ll remember that for the rest of my life.’
38
Jessa
We pull up outside Kit’s house just as the sun is rising. For the whole way back I’ve been too scared to talk, scared that the lump in my throat will burst and I’ll cry. I can’t believe it’s been four weeks. It feels like a lifetime and yet it doesn’t feel nearly long enough.
‘It’s just twelve months,’ Kit says, reading my mind.
I turn to him.
‘Three hundred and sixty-five days,’ he says, running his thumb over my cheekbone. ‘It’s nothing. Not compared to what we’ll have.’
I nod, tears stinging the backs of my eyes.
We climb out the car and Kit takes my hand and leads me into the house. His dad is in the kitchen. He makes no comment about Kit and me having stayed out all night, he just asks if we want coffee.
Kit goes upstairs to shower and pack the last of his things, and I stay downstairs with his dad. I’m so tired all of a sudden. The reality of where I’m at, of Kit leaving, of Riley leaving, of having no home to go back to, hits me with the blunt force of a sledgehammer. I sink down onto one of the kitchen stools and bury my head in my hands.
Kit’s father places his hand on my shoulder. ‘It’s OK,’ he says. ‘It’s going to be OK.’
Kit said those exact words. I look up at his father. He gives me a warm, reassuring smile before crossing to the stove to turn off the kettle.
‘Your brother came around last night to get your dad’s car,’ he says as he busies himself pouring the water into the jug. ‘Told me what happened.’ He fusses with the coffee for a moment longer before he hands me a steaming mug. ‘You know you’re welcome to stay here, Jessa, as long as you like. I’ll be glad to have you around. Gets lonely without Kit.’ He offers me the milk. ‘I want you to treat this place like your own. OK?’
‘Yes. Thank you,’ I stammer. ‘I appreciate it, Mr Ryan.’
‘Ben. Call me Ben.’
‘OK.’ I take a sip of coffee, not able to look him in the eye. I’m feeling too tired, too overwhelmed, too sad.
Kit walks back in a moment later – his hair wet, wearing his uniform – and my heart swells big enough to burst and my vision starts to blur. I don’t think I can do this. I stagger off the stool and look around desperately for the exit. I make for the back door, but Kit intercepts me. He prises the scalding coffee from my hands and sets it on the side before pulling me into his arms. I collapse there and he just holds me without saying a word. I don’t know how long we stand like that, in the centre of the kitchen, but my coffee grows cold on the side and it’s only when the doorbell sounds that he finally lets me go.
Riley walks into the kitchen a few seconds later, wearing his uniform. He hugs Kit first, slapping him on the back, and I know it’s an apology of sorts for what happened with my dad. They have their guy moment and then Riley walks over to me.
‘You OK?’ he asks, noticing my tear-stained face.
‘Yeah,’ I say.
‘What are you going to do?’ he asks.
‘Stay here,’ I answer.
Riley nods as though he suspected as much.
‘How was he?’ I ask nervously.
He shrugs, and I notice for the first time the dark circles beneath his eyes. ‘I don’t know. I stayed at Jo’s last night.’
‘And Mom?’ I feel a twinge of guilt at the mention of her name, but it’s quickly stamped out by a burst of anger. She could have stood up for both of us and she didn’t. She’s never stood up for us.
‘I spoke to her just now,’ Riley says. ‘Said goodbye.’ A pause. ‘She sounded spaced.’
I look at him, frowning. I wonder if that means she’s hit the not-so-secret stash of Valium she keeps in the bathroom cabinet. I can tell that’s what Riley’s implying.
‘I’m sorry,’ Riley suddenly says.
I look up at him, confused, and see the anguish in his eyes and the guilt splashed across his face. ‘For leaving you to deal with it alone,’ he adds.
It’s the first time Riley’s ever talked to me about his decision to enlist, and the buried grudge I was holding vanishes instantly when I see just how torn up he is by it and how guilty he feels.
‘It’s OK,’ I say, and I mean it. I don’t want him to feel guilty.
He gives me a sad, unconvinced smile.
‘I mean it,’ I say. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.’
‘I’m always going to worry about you. You’re my little sis,’ he mumbles.
‘We need to go.’
I look up. Kit’s standing in the doorway, his bag at his feet. Riley checks the time and nods. ‘OK,’ he says before wrapping his arms around me and hugging me hard. I hug him back harder.
‘Take care,’ he whispers in my ear. ‘And look out for Jo for me. And the baby.’
I nod. ‘Take care of Kit for me,’ I whisper back, my throat closing up.
I feel him nod against me. He kisses me on the top of my head before he pulls away and glances over at Kit. ‘I’ll leave you two to it,’ he says and walks out the kitchen, throwing me a smile backwards as he goes.
Kit steps forward and, taking my face in his hands, tips my head back so I’m forced to look up at him through a veil of tears.
‘I love you,’ he says, his voice so fierce it makes something catch in my chest. ‘I’m going to love you forever.’
I hold onto his hands. Why does he have to leave? It feels like we’ve only just begun. ‘I love you too.’
He bumps his forehead to mine.
‘Please, take care of Riley,’ I say. ‘Be his good luck charm, like you were mine.’
He strokes my hair behind one ear. ‘I promise,’ he says.
My lips are against his and I’m crying. ‘Come back to me,’ I whisper.
‘Always,’ he answers, kissing me for the last time.
From: Kit Ryan
To: Jessa Kingsley [email protected]
Date: July 7
Subject: 361 days
Hey baby,
Thanks for all your emails. We’ve finally arrived in country. It took me a while to get an internet connection in the r
oom but now we’re all set up. I miss you like crazy too. As soon as I figure out how to get a calling card I’ll call. Internet is crap so I can’t Skype.
You wouldn’t believe this place. Kabul is pretty much still a warzone – the US embassy compound is huge – over a thousand people working here and we’re on permanent high alert. Our detachment commander isn’t too much of an asshole, though he’s put Riley and me on night shift for the next three months.
Thanks for the photos by the way J . . . is that an early Christmas present? When did you steal my phone and take those? Next time please feel free to pose while I take them. I’m sharing a room with Riley so I had to lock myself in the bathroom to enjoy them. And yes, I did put a lock on my phone.
Did you speak to your mom yet? How’s it going with my dad? How are rehearsals?
Love you,
K.
From: Jessa Kingsley
To: Kit Ryan [email protected]
Date: July 25
Subject: 343 days
Your dad insisted on making dinner last night. I’m not sure the last time he cooked anything more than a boiled egg but it was super sweet of him. I’m glad you inherited your cooking skills from your mom, though. He misses you – make sure you email him. I tried to get him to talk about your mom and my dad by the way, but he changed the subject. It’s so weird. I’m going to get it out of him eventually.
So . . . you asked if I’d figured out what I was doing and I have. I’ve decided I’m going to take a year out and try to save some money. I got a job waitressing part time at the diner where Jo works. Photo attached of me in my uniform. Don’t laugh. I felt bad not contributing to the bills here and I need to buy gas for your truck too. It eats it. Don’t even try to suggest sending me money again, Kit. It’s so sweet of you but I’m fine. I have my first waitressing shift this afternoon. Wish me luck.
Rehearsals are going well. I’ve learned all my lines (all twelve of them)! We get our costumes soon. You are going to love it. Mine’s basically a French maid costume.
Gotta run. I’m late.
Love you
Jessa xxx
P.S. Tell Riley to email me.
From: Kit Ryan
To: Jessa Kingsley [email protected]
Date: August 27
Subject: 310 days
Thanks for the package, baby. I ate all the Reese’s Pieces already – saving the Skittles. Was I meant to give any to Riley? Because if I was it’s too late for that.
He was so psyched by the scan photo Jo sent him. He’s stuck it to the wall by his bed and keeps showing it to everyone.
I think you should give your mom a chance. Just hear her out. I wish I could be there with you. You’ve no idea how much I miss you, how often I dream about you. My phone battery keeps running low I spend so much time looking at those photos of you.
Good luck with the dress rehearsal tomorrow. I know you’ll do great. You should wear your costume to the diner – I think it would triple your tips. Do you get to keep it? ;)
Kx
From: Jessa Kingsley
To: Kit Ryan [email protected]
Date: August 28
Subject: 309 days
Thank you for the flowers! They’re so beautiful. Even from the other side of the world you manage to keep your most romantic boyfriend title. Dress rehearsal starts in two hours. Sooooo nervous. Did I tell you your dad bought a front row seat for opening night? He even asked if he could record it so he could send you a copy. Did you ask him to do that?
So, the big news is that I spoke to my mom. She came by the other day. I think your dad had something to do with it because when I got home from work they were both there, waiting for me in the living room. It was like an intervention. The long and short of it is that I’m moving back home. I’m not sure how you’re going to feel about
this. I’m not sure how I feel about it. Part of me really doesn’t want to go – I’m so happy here – but another part feels guilty and like it’s the right thing to do.My dad has apparently admitted he might have a problem and my mom says he’s getting help and doing much better. I figured it’s only going to be for ten months until you get HOME so I should just bite the bullet. I’m going to pay my way, though.
I increased my shifts at the diner and Didi’s dad offered me some part-time work while his assistant is on maternity leave so I’m managing to save quite a lot, and I’m going to need every cent . . .
. . . Because I looked into the courses at USC like you suggested and I’m going to apply for their BFA in acting for next year. Didi’s having so much fun there, and I keep imagining you and me living there together in some cool apartment in Santa Monica. Some place right on the beach – can you picture it? You opening up your cafe and me taking classes. It’s just ten months, Kit. Just over three hundred days. I can’t wait to see you again.
Love you and miss you so much,
Jessa x
P.S. Yes I get to keep the costume. I’m already fantasizing about the night I wear it and all the things I’m going to do to you.
39
Kit
We’ve been pulling the night shift for eight weeks and I’m getting used to being nocturnal. It works well, as Jessa’s twelve hours behind so as I stand on guard duty I get to imagine her waking up, going about her day, and when my shift ends I know there’ll be emails from her waiting for me, and if I’m lucky, some photos too.
I pause halfway to post one, remembering that this morning she won’t be waking up in our bed but back in her old one. I wonder how that’s going, how her dad is, whether her mom was right about him getting treatment. It’s frustrating being stuck here so far away from Jessa, and I have a niggling anxiety that worries like an itch beneath a plaster cast, something I can’t seem to scratch, that her living back home will change things between us – that her dad’s anger at me might rub off on her, or that Jessa will lose some of the confidence she’s gained and start kowtowing to his demands again. But she seems pretty set on going to USC next year from what she says, and I draw some comfort from the fantasy she painted of us living there.
I roll my hands over my phone in my pocket. The keys are getting worn from all the scrolling I’m doing over the photographs and texts she’s sending. Fuck, I miss her, I think as I crunch across the gravel towards the guard post, more than I even thought possible. It’s a crescent moon tonight, thin as a rind of cheese, and the stars are blazing, reminding me of our last night in the desert. As always, I fix on the North Star – our star, as I’ve started thinking of it – and think about Jessa.
‘I’ll take sentry,’ Riley says to me, interrupting my thoughts.
‘OK,’ I say, nodding at the two guys we’re replacing. I shrug my gun further up my shoulder and head inside the guard post.
‘This is alpha one to bravo two, in position,’ I say into my radio and listen as all the other posts around the compound radio in.
On automatic, I scan the console, checking all the alarm systems, before tracking my way through the cameras, making sure the feeds to all fifty are working.
Through the blast-proof glass I can see Riley standing sentry at the gate, silhouetted against the floodlights. The embassy is ringed with twenty-foot-high walls and razor wire. It’s like a prison. Post one is the main guard post at the entrance to the embassy compound.
At midnight I swap posts with Riley. He grins and slaps me on the back. ‘Yo, dude, no staring up at the stars and jonesing after my sister.’
‘Shut the fuck up,’ I laugh, unshouldering my weapon as I walk out the door.
About five metres out I stop in front of the barrier. I don’t mind standing on the gate. It’s quiet out here at night, only a few cars passing by occasionally. The night passes slowly, but then, at four, after four hours’ standing, I suddenly remember I haven’t called Jessa to wish her luck for the performance. Shit.
I turn around and make a
hand gesture through the glass at Riley. He comes to the door.
‘What’s up?’ he shouts.
‘Can you cover for me for five? I need to call Jessa.’
He raises an eyebrow and shakes his head at me.
‘It’s opening night tonight,’ I plead. ‘I said I’d call and wish her luck. I totally forgot.’
‘OK, fine. Just hurry it up,’ he says, striding towards me.
He raps his knuckles against my helmet as I walk past him into the guard post. ‘And no phone sex,’ he yells over his shoulder as he takes up position where I’ve been standing.
Once inside the post I put my gun down and pull out my phone. It’s totally against protocol to make a call while on duty, but it’s four a.m., no one’s around, and Riley’s done it before when he forgot Jo’s birthday, so he owes me one. And as for the phone sex, I save that for when Riley’s in the shower and I have the room to myself.
Quickly I dial Jessa’s number. It rings and rings with no answer so I hang up and try again. This time I let it ring through to voicemail, but before I get to leave a message I catch sight of something out of the corner of my eye.
My head flies up. I ring off and put the phone down on the side, grabbing instinctively for my weapon. Riley’s walking forwards, holding up his arm and waving.
Out of the shadows I see the shape of a man, bundled up, head bent, walking purposefully towards the gate. When he steps into the light I see he’s wearing a long brown chapan – a traditional Afghan coat. Through the glass I hear Riley yelling at him, ordering him to stop.
‘Come in post one.’
I start and hit the comms button on my radio.
‘This is post one,’ I say, watching the altercation outside the window, my thumb easing the safety off my weapon.
‘This is post four. Be advised. A minivan has just pulled up against the compound wall.’
‘Roger that,’ I say, glancing at the camera feed. ‘Be advised we have a single foot mobile approaching post one.’
‘Roger that.’ I recognize the voice of the gunny sergeant, my direct commanding officer. ‘Interrogative,’ he asks. ‘Do you have a visual on any weapons?’