Casualties of War

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Stuart shook his head. “It’s not because she’s gone so much. That I could handle. I did handle it.” Misery filled his face. “I can’t stand waiting for her to come home on a stretcher or in a casket. I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want a folded flag on my mantle, Adán. It would…it would kill me.” He wiped his eyes. “It’s better to not know at all. To not have to wait.”

  Adán adjusted the wheel, and tightened the jib sheet, thinking hard.

  “You think I’m crazy. I can see it in your face,” Stuart said.

  Adán shook his head. “I don’t think you’re crazy at all. I’d never thought about what she does that way.”

  “I guess you have to live with a soldier to get it,” Stuart said, his voice strained.

  “I did live with soldiers,” Adán shot back.

  Stuart’s eyes widened.

  “I grew up in a military family,” Adán reminded him. “My uncle is the President of Vistaria and he got the job because he was the strongest general in the Vistarian Army. My other uncle is up to his neck in army stuff. Military service is the backbone of Vistarian society. Even my father served, before he came to Hollywood. I grew up watching soldiers leave their families and head out. Pull on that rope next to your hip, until it’s tight.”

  Stuart worked the sheet and anchored it, winding the wrong way. He was a newbie around boats and he was too upset to care.

  “I had forgotten about your family history,” Stuart said. “Only, that’s different.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…well…a man heading off to war is…well, it’s different.”

  “Now you’re just being sexist,” Adán said, with a small smile. “Women serve in the Vistarian Army, too.”

  Stuart’s gaze met his. “You ever kiss your wife goodbye and know there was a chance she might not come back?”

  Adán drew in a deep, deep breath and let it out. “No.”

  Stuart got drunk to the point where Adán told him to stay on the seat and not trip him up while he guided the boat back to the marina. That day made Adán think about one-man sailing and finding a boat he could handle by himself.

  After the divorce, Adán saw Parris less often. She and Stuart remained friends but of the once-a-year-catch-up variety. Stuart avoided learning about her day-to-day life.

  Adán thought about contacting Parris directly, only it felt like a betrayal of his friendship with Stuart. Also, he had no idea how to contact her anymore, short of asking Stuart for her details and he wouldn’t do that. Besides, she was never home.

  On top of that, the years of endless work had netted Adán a career jammed full of work. His contracts extended for three years and Ariella juggled up to five years ahead. Even if Adán wanted to track Parris down, he didn’t have the time.

  They were all good reasons, just not the real reason he didn’t reach out to her. Guilt was a mental monster lurking in his soul. It kept him contained and alone and told him emptiness was all he deserved.

  * * * * *

  The sparkling resorts and buildings of Acapulco glinted in the late afternoon sun, as Adán adjusted the course to head north of the city and reeled in the spinnaker. The waters around Acapulco were busy—pleasure craft and monster ocean cruisers and a sprinkling of fishing boats heading out for night fishing. It kept Adán’s mind off old memories for a while.

  An hour from the big house, he was hailed by an antique wooden fishing boat that paralleled his course and demanded he drop sail.

  Adán used the glasses to check the boat out. Every man standing on the crowded deck wore the dark green Loyalist uniform.

  He’d met the new Vistarian navy.

  After checking his passport and reaching out to the big house for further instructions, the lieutenant in charge ordered his crew to tow Adán into the big house. The rope was tossed across and secured. The fishing boat, with a powerful engine hidden beneath the creaking hull, set up a steady pace across the choppy waters, heading for shore.

  It left Adán with nothing to do but sit and watch Acapulco draw closer and wonder about the reception that awaited him. In between, he mused about the past.

  The past had been with him throughout the journey south, for Parris had sent him here. Parris and her pure ideals and intolerance for bullshit, who had shaved away his illusions until all that remained was undisguised truth.

  Chapter Six

  The first time Adán saw Parris after she and Stuart divorced was also the last time he had seen her. As she had the first time, she turned up on his doorstep unannounced.

  Adán stepped back from the front door, his heart jolting. Jeans, long legs, a simple top and flat shoes. Her hair flowed over her shoulders and her face was unchanged. Parris Graves.

  “You let your hair grow,” Adán said. It was the first coherent thought to occur to him.

  She lifted a brow, her green eyes sober. “And hello to you, too.” Then she shifted and waved behind her. “The guards just let me through. I’m really on your list of free passes?”

  “You always have been.” He glanced over her shoulder. None of the paparazzi who lingered around the gate had taken any notice.

  Yet.

  He stepped even farther back. “Come in.”

  Parris moved into the house, her hands pushed into her back pockets. “Still gorgeous in here,” she said, peeking in at the formal rooms as she passed them.

  Adán moved through to the big combo room at the back of the house, where he spent most of his time. She followed.

  “I just made coffee,” he said. “Want one?”

  “Vistarian?” she asked, with a hopeful note.

  “Ordinary.”

  She grimaced. “Maybe later.” She turned on one foot, taking in the room. “How long has it been since I was here? I’ve been trying to work it out.”

  “Six years and four months,” Adán said.

  Parris finished her circuit and pinned him with a direct stare. “Been keeping count?”

  He shook his head. “Putting Stuart back together again after the divorce has stayed with me.”

  Her jaw rippled. “That’s why you haven’t called? You think I’m the bad guy?”

  Adán picked up his coffee cup from the round table where he had been reading scripts, to give his hands something to do. “I don’t think either of you can be blamed, Parris.”

  She threw her hands out. “Then why didn’t you call me?”

  “That’s why you’re here? To find out why I didn’t pick up the phone? It’s been over five years. Why now?”

  “You’re getting angry. You do blame me.”

  “No, I do not.” She was right, goddamn it. His anger was uncurling and stirring to life.

  “You think Stuart was right, though.” Parris added.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  She was all the way across the room, yet it felt like she was right there in front of him. Confronting him. Her green eyes were large, steady and cool. “He said it was cruel and unusual punishment, being married to me.”

  Adán swallowed. “That’s between you and him.”

  “He would have told you, though. I know he did. Stuart likes you at lot.”

  “We’re friends.”

  “Are we friends, Adán?”

  He squeezed the cup, fighting to contain his growing anger. “You said we couldn’t be. Not anymore.”

  She stared at him, her eyes widening even more. Then she rolled them. “You and your damn Vistarian honor! That was years ago! I said it because of Stuart!”

  “I know.”

  “It’s all changed now.”

  “It has,” he said, as calmly as he could. “We’re not those people anymore.”

  “Bullshit,” she said, her voice low.

  “What do you want of me?” he demanded, his temper snapping. His breath came shorter. “I stayed away. I got on with my life and you came back. I adjusted to that, too. Now what, Parris?”

  Her eyes glittered and her jaw worked. “I want you to tel
l me you don’t blame me!”

  “I just did!”

  “You’re an actor! How can I believe you?”

  He stared at her, his chest heaving, his mind whirling. “Have you believed nothing I’ve ever told you?”

  “You didn’t call!” she cried. “What was I supposed to think?”

  His anger drained as suddenly as it had arrived. “Nothing,” he said, cold calm returning. “You weren’t supposed to think anything but the truth.”

  “What is the truth?”

  “That I’m the one to blame,” he breathed. He couldn’t look at her. He strode to the sink, dumped the coffee and rinsed the cup.

  “Oh my God…” Parris whispered.

  He turned, alarmed by the note in her voice.

  She was clutching her head. “You think I left him because of you.”

  Now she had said the words aloud, he wanted to deny them. They seemed so self-centered. Only, denying it would be another form of lying. He made himself speak the truth instead. “Not directly,” he told her. “That night on the boat, I put a chink in your marriage. Maybe it was a fatal chink, maybe there were others I don’t know about, but I definitely weakened it. So yes, I know I’m to blame for your divorce.”

  Parris moved over to the Edra sofa and sat on the arm. She put her feet on the cushion and wrapped her arms around her knees as if she was cold. Her gaze met his. “That’s why you didn’t call.”

  “I didn’t know it until now, but yes.”

  Her gaze was steady. “I figured I was to blame, not you.”

  Adán leaned on the counter to anchor himself there and provide support. He felt light and weak. “You did nothing wrong.”

  “I drove him away,” she said. “Because of who I am.”

  “That’s Stuart’s issue, not yours.”

  “An issue he couldn’t live with.” Her eyes glittered even harder and Adán realized she was close to tears. “Am I unlovable, Adán? Because I picked this life, no man will ever be able to bear me in theirs?”

  There were so many things he could say in response, all of them raw truth he had never spoken. The words screamed in his mind. Be in my life!

  Only, he didn’t know if she wanted that. If she wanted him. No woman deserved the life he had to offer, in the hothouse atmosphere of the top observation deck of Lalaland.

  When he didn’t answer straight away, Parris nodded. “Thought so,” she said sadly.

  Adán stirred. “You can’t judge all men by the actions of one man.”

  Parris got off the sofa and shook out her hair, then pushed it back over her shoulder. The movements displayed the athletic strength and flexibility of her body, encased in tight jeans. Her eyes met his once more. “You are just like Stuart, aren’t you? You still want to save me. To protect me.”

  “Of course I do,” he said swiftly. “It doesn’t mean I can’t stand watching you take care of things for yourself.”

  She came up to the front of the counter, keeping the marble slab between them. She leaned against it as Adán was. “It does mean you don’t want me in your life.”

  His heart shifted. His pulse threatened to tear an artery. It hurt. “Why would I ask? I know what you think about Hollywood and actors.”

  “Do you want to ask?” Her gaze wouldn’t let his go.

  “Yes,” he breathed. “I want to ask. Only, I would hate myself if I did. This life…it would suffocate you. It would stop you from doing that which I admire the most about you.”

  Her chest rose and fell. “You’re making the decision for me?”

  Adán straightened and hid his fists behind the counter. “I’m one of the most well-known men in the world, Parris. That’s not ego speaking, either. That’s cold fact. Your work is classified so high you can’t even hint about what continent you’ll be on.”

  Parris straightened, too. “Classified is just a designation. You’re not military—”

  “You’re black ops, Parris,” he said flatly. “I know the signs. My cousin is exactly like you—his thoughts are always miles away. He goes silent around civilians because there’s so much he can’t talk about and civilian chatter is of no interest to him. You are like him and not only with me. You were like that with Stuart and you were married to him. I’m not even American!”

  She sucked in a breath and blew it out. “I can’t talk about my work,” she said flatly.

  “Of course you can’t!” He threw his hand out. “I live in a fishbowl. Your career would implode if you stepped into it because that’s who I am.”

  Her breath came fast. Hard.

  “I’m not making decisions, either for you or for me,” Adán added, striving to keep his tone reasonable. “Who I am takes all choice out of the equation.”

  Parris’ gaze didn’t shift. She didn’t move a muscle. Instead, two tears trickled down her smooth cheeks.

  Adán groaned. “God, Parris, don’t look at me that way, I beg you.”

  “Then…you do still want me,” she said. “You just won’t ask me.”

  He closed his eyes. Agonizing pain tore through him. “Not when asking you will destroy everything you value in your life.”

  She moved around the counter while his pulse grew thready. She touched her lips to his. Adán tightened his fists even further, to stop himself from reaching for her.

  “See you around, Adán,” she whispered against his cheek.

  * * * * *

  As the fishing boat and Adán’s towed sloop pushed up against the long jetty in the big, semi-circular bay, Adán shook off the hot fingers of guilt his last memory of Parris always generated.

  After she left, that day, Adán found the last bottle of Vistarian Mescal in the house, put his phone on do-not-disturb and got comprehensively drunk. Then, because there was nothing else to do, he moved on with his life. The mask he showed the world had a new layer of shielding on it, but no one guessed.

  Parris, he presumed, went back to the honorable task of serving her country and when he allowed himself to think of her at all, he admired her strength and determination. He didn’t let the memories linger for long or they would crack the façade. He learned to dismiss them when they rose.

  Then war had broken out in Vistaria and everything changed. He found himself thinking of her often and comparing himself to her. Parris was doing the right thing. She was fighting for her country.

  He was not.

  The comparison festered, as the war wound on. He grew impatient with movie-making. Justifying his work with the reasoning that people needed stories and diversion was no longer effective.

  Yet Nick and Calli, even Olivia in the hospital, had told him there was no role for him in the war. For a while, he accepted that.

  No more easy outs, he whispered silently to himself as he tied the boat up and secured the hatch. He nodded at the lieutenant who directed him to the big house.

  Adán walked along the hot planks of the jetty, his heart beating fast and hard. Now would come the testing time.

  Chapter Seven

  There were sentries all along the boardwalk that connected the jetty with the stairs that climbed up to the house on the cliff over the bay. All the sentries were injured and sported arms in slings or a cane or bandages Yet each held a machine gun in their spare hand and all of them were alert.

  At the foot of the stairs stood a young captain with glasses and fine gray eyes. “Captain Rey,” he said, shaking Adán’s hand. “The Chief of Staff asked me to escort you to the house.”

  Adán looked up at the house. From where they stood at the bottom of the stairs that clung to the cliff, all he could see were the sections of the old house that jutted from the top of it. “Calli knew I was coming?”

  Rey smiled. “The captain of the patrol boat phoned ahead.”

  The cloaking software was being put to good use.

  Adán looked up at the stairs once more. “They look steeper than I remember.”

  Rey turned and gripped the handrail beside the first step. “When
I first arrived, I couldn’t climb them without a break half-way. Now, I don’t notice unless I’ve been up and down them more than a few times in the last hour.”

  They climbed. “Good training,” Adán observed.

  “It’s what we use them for,” Rey admitted, with a grin. “They sort out the unfit for us quickly.”

  They didn’t speak after that. Adán needed all his breath for the climb. By the time they reached the third flight, his thighs were burning and his breath blowing hard.

  “Would you like a rest?” Rey asked.

  Adán shook his head. “Let’s get this over with. I presume she wants to see me before I speak to anyone else?”

  Rey’s smile was wise. “Everyone gets questioned these days. It’s not personal.”

  “I didn’t think it was.”

  “If you were not you, you would have been left to wait on your boat.”

  “I appreciate the exception being made.” He forced himself to climb the final flight and was glad to reach the big, flat sunbaked deck at the top. Two more small steps led up to the old, scratched door inside. Three steps led to the sandy ground beside the house and the path that led around to the front, where the fountain and the jacarandas graced the big circular driveway.

  It had been many years since Adán had last been here. Sometime since then, a garden had been developed. Rather than planting in the dry, nutrient-poor sand, large raised beds had been built out of a brow-raising mix of materials—lumber, cardboard, metal and what looked like the running board of an old automobile. The loam in the beds, showing between vegetables, was dark and rich.

  There were two corporals guarding the back door. They nodded as Rey moved between them, put a hand on the door and pushed.

  Adán followed him inside, his gut tightening.

  The sunroom he remembered was no longer a place of relaxation. The old teak shutters stood open, letting in the late afternoon sunshine, which pooled on the raw floorboards. The antique Persian rugs were gone.

  An old tin desk sat near the door that led into the interior of the house. A lieutenant with healing burn marks on his face looked up. “Señor Caballero. Please have a seat. Señora Calli is finishing up a meeting.”