Purple Hearts

by Tess Wakefield

  Now we’d meet Josh van Ritter of Wolf Records. Two fates: one good, one bad. Two waves poised above my head. I didn’t touch my tea.

  Shit was hitting the fan. I didn’t know what lay beyond that. I didn’t know what consequences I would face. I didn’t know how this worked. I didn’t know when, or if, I would be called. Would I be called? Or would they take me, too? Would they yank me away in front of my friends, cuff me, and let them watch as I took everything they’d wished for into the back of a squad car?

  “Any word?” Nora asked, reaching across the table to rub my hand, sipping her coffee.

  “Nothing yet,” I told her. No news. I had texted Jake the next morning, got nothing back.

  Luke had put his minimal possessions in his bag, and cleared out. Mittens had wandered the apartment all night, sniffing the corners, looking for him. Every time I dozed off, I woke up to the sound of her claws on the wooden floors, and waited to hear his weight creak with hers, his quiet mutters. My mind circled around him. He was gone. He was gone and I hated him and I had forgiven him fully. I hated him because I had forgiven him, and I wanted to say sorry for hating him. Under it all, I missed him. I missed him and he was a liar and I hated him and I missed him.

  Toby swung his arm over the back of my chair.

  A cop car passed. I flinched.

  Josh approached us with a latte in hand, big glasses over friendly eyes and a beard. He looked vaguely hungover.

  “Hi, Cassie! I looked for you after the show,” he said, sitting down, offering his hand.

  I waved it off. “I was fighting off something before we played, and then it hit me,” I lied. “Sorry about that. Don’t want to get you sick.”

  “No problem,” he said, introducing himself to Toby and Nora, who wore smiles to their ears.

  “Right.” Josh set his hands on the table. “So I don’t have much time before I have to catch my flight, but you all have it going on, let me make that real clear.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and some of the excitement from last night came skipping back, making me sit up a little straighter.

  “We’re wondering if you can bring that kind of energy to, say, twenty shows, rather than one.”

  “Totally,” Toby said.

  As I was about to assure him, a text came through on my phone. I jumped. I didn’t check it, not wanting to be rude, but I knew it must be from Jake.

  Josh continued, “We’re thinking you’d be a great fit with Dr. Dog. They’ve got a sixties Brit pop sound, you’ve got a more modern, edgy take on that. More minimalist, more female dominated.”

  “We’re so down with that,” Toby said. “They’ve always been a big influence.”

  “Absolutely,” Nora said. “Right, Cass?”

  “Yes,” I said immediately, trying to keep hold of the dual feelings that had risen in my chest, trying not to let the facts catch up with me. There was the ecstasy that all our hard work had paid off, that we could go on the road and play for strangers, that I had the talent and work ethic to make it happen.

  Then, tearing that happiness apart, there was the possibility that I had destroyed every last bit of our new lives before they began.

  Nora reached for my hand under the table.

  I took her hand in both of mine, grateful, squeezing hard.

  “So.” Josh stood, pointing at me. “I’m sorry you’re sick.”

  I mustered a smile.

  “We’ll talk when you’re better. But in the meantime,” he said, opening his hands to all of us, “look for an e-mail from me with the contract. Plan for a week or so from now, when Dr. Dog swings through Galveston. Okay?”

  “Okay!” Nora said, trying to be cheery, shaking his hand again.

  As he walked away, I looked at the message from Jake. Luke and Dad meeting with lawyer today, will keep you posted if they decide to charge him, the message read. “Shit.”

  I showed it to Nora and Toby.

  Toby said, slowly, “Well, we have to at least assume the good before the bad.” He drummed on the table, ecstatic. “Also, hi. That man walking away is about to give us a record deal.”

  I couldn’t get anywhere near to the good Toby was talking about. I started to think about what “jail” actually meant. What it meant to Luke, what it meant to me. Punishment. Loneliness. Cut off from everyone. His agony, reaching across toward me. Between my bandmates, over the lukewarm tea, I started to shake.

  “Let me go get you some more hot water,” Nora said, her brow furrowed. She stood and went inside.

  “Come on, Cass. That would be Luke’s trial, not yours,” Toby said. “Right?”

  “We’re married. It’s going to be my trial eventually, T.”

  Toby shook his head with a confident smile. “He’s worse, though. His dealer? I mean, that’s some shady shit. You could probably even spin it so he manipulated you.”

  My hands clenched. “I would never do that to him.”

  “Think about it, though.” Toby swallowed. He reached over to brush away one of my tears. “I mean, we’re about to go on tour, Cass.”

  I pointed to the text on my phone. “There might not even be a band to go on tour. Because I lied. I’m a fraud, too.”

  He searched for words, eyes narrowed in confusion, leaning toward me. “You’re just going to give yourself in?”

  “I’m not giving myself in,” I snapped. “But I am being honest about what’s happening here.”

  “All right, be honest, then,” Toby said, smacking the table. “Be fucking honest.”

  I threw my hands up. “What? What do you want me to say?”

  “You’re in love with him!” Toby yelled, his eyebrows raised.

  Nora had arrived between us, holding a small teapot. She bit her lip, and set it down gently.

  Toby let out his breath slowly. His face turned softer, sadder. He tucked his hair behind his ears, and leaned back. “You’re freaking out because you are. I always knew that you were,” he said. “All that time. I just tried to ignore it.”

  All the breath was knocked out of me. I couldn’t say yes, but I couldn’t say no, either. And the person who was most relevant to that sentiment was completely out of reach.

  Suddenly, I was so tired I could barely hold my head up. I picked up the teapot, and poured some steaming water into my cup. I could feel Toby’s gaze on me. I looked at his sweet, sad eyes.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, and meant it.

  His jaw was still clenched. “I can’t fucking believe this,” he said. “I need a drink.”

  Nora came between Toby and me, and put her arms around our shoulders. “First, we’re going to get food for Cassie. Then we’re going to The Handle Bar. But no matter what happens, this band is going to get through this. We’re going to be sad together, and we’re going to celebrate together.”

  “We’re going to do both?” I asked, trying not to cry.

  “Both,” she said.

  Luke

  I sat in another room about half the size of my cell, a room with metal walls and nothing in it but a table and two chairs. When the door opened, I kept my eyes on my cuffed hands. I smelled motor oil and salt, sunflower seeds. I looked up.

  “Well,” Dad said, sitting down across from me, one limb at a time. “You’re not supposed to have visitors.”

  “No, sir.”

  “But I told them I was former CID and I would likely be posting bail, and they let me through. They do this sham marriage shit too much anyway. Waste of money.”

  We had the same sitting method, I’d noticed. Both of our injuries were on the right-hand side. “You don’t have to post bail. I just wanted—”

  Dad waved his hand, his face stern.

  I stopped. “Thank you.”

  “Jake contacted Cassie, as you requested.”

  I felt something burst inside me at the sound of her name. “What did she—?” I began.

  He held up a hand. “But we told her not to come until she has to.”

  “Yes, sir. S
o they didn’t arrest her.”

  “No. Not yet, at least.”

  “Fucking Johnno.” I bit down on my tongue, tasting blood.

  He folded his hands, waiting for an explanation. Too long of a story. It was always too long of a story. Nothing simple. Nothing good.

  He squinted at me, thick brows knit together, perplexed. Puzzled as to how I could have possibly originated in his household, I imagined. From his DNA. “Do you know what disappointment feels like, son?”

  “Yes, sir.” Every day.

  “No, I often wonder if you do. I don’t think you ever did. Because if you did, I believe you wouldn’t inflict as much of it on the people in your life.”

  He was going to get up and walk away, again. He was going to wash his hands of me for a second time. I couldn’t let that happen.

  “I do know,” I said. “And I am disappointed. I made a mistake.”

  “One mistake isn’t the problem, Luke. It’s that you set yourself up for a life where doing something like this is acceptable. When your life is a series of mistakes, mistakes are no longer mistakes. They’re just your life.”

  “Dad,” I said, my hands balled in fists. I need you.

  “I thought you’d changed.”

  “I have. I’m talking to Jake. I’m going to meetings.” I thought of the life on the ground I’d chosen, the consequences. I had nothing to lose. “Mom’s death really messed me up, Dad.” I took a breath. “And I’ve missed you. I love you.”

  He cleared his throat, putting his hands in his pockets. “You’ll get a dishonorable discharge, I expect.”

  “Just as long as nothing happens to Cassie.”

  “Nobody can guarantee that.”

  “Maybe not, but I can try.”

  Dad paused. “What do you mean?”

  Just then, the lawyer entered. A man about my age, of Asian descent. Thick, black hair cropped over plastic-rimmed glasses, dress blues. “My name is Henry Tran, and I’m with the United States Army Trial Defense Service.”

  He shook both of our hands, and sat down next to Dad, across the table from us.

  “So,” he began, running his eyes down a piece of paper. “You stand accused of entering into a contract marriage in order to fraudulently collect BAH and FSA pay, in violation of UCMJ Article 132.”

  For a minute, we were all silent. Dad opened his mouth to speak, but I spoke first. “We were married. That’s it. That’s all anyone has to know.”

  “I agree, Private Morrow. The Department of Defense’s official stance is that marriage is a personal, private decision, and ‘why’ someone chooses to enter into a legal union is not a court issue.” He held up his hands in quotation marks. “The issue is usually whether you can provide the necessary legal documents to the service proving that you’re married.”

  My face burst into a smile. Dad looked at me from across the table, frowning. I ignored him, holding out my fingers one by one, thinking of Frankie, his goading, his insistence on closing every loophole. “We have an official marriage certificate. We have photographic evidence of the proposal. We have witnesses that saw us before and after the wedding as a couple . . .”

  I glanced at Dad. He was looking at the lawyer, his eyebrows raised. I don’t think he realized how very committed I was.

  Henry spoke slowly, considering. “Could the prosecution collect significant evidence that the marriage coincided with a time of financial need?”

  I swallowed. They could. They could dig. They could see how my bank account went rapidly up and down as I paid Johnno, mostly down. They could see that Cassie got fired. But if I could stop them from doing this before the investigation got that far . . . I put a hand flat on the table, leaning forward. “They could, but it wouldn’t be relevant. If they bring up evidence, I will testify that I married her because we loved each other and we wanted to help each other out. It’s not up to the court to determine ‘reasons for marriage,’ that’s what you just said.”

  Dad shifted in his seat. I couldn’t tell, but he might have given me a small, almost imperceptible nod.

  “Beyond that, the angle they may take here is ‘intent to deceive.’ ” Henry cleared his throat. “The phone call included mention of adultery on the part of Ms. Salazar. This would detract from the legitimacy of claims of love or support.”

  I heard Kaz’s voice, saw Johnno sneering. Why you gonna let her play you like that, bro?

  “If I don’t—” I choked on the words. I tried not to wince at the thought of Cassie and her drummer embracing. “Whatever anyone saw, if I don’t consider her adulterous, then she wasn’t adulterous. And I will testify to that, too.”

  I felt Dad’s gaze on the side of my face.

  I kept my eyes on the lawyer, and continued. “Cassie was there for me while I was in Afghanistan and she cared for me, day and night, when I came home injured, and we have proof of that. She was my wife in the ways that mattered, and she was an amazing wife.”

  A discerning look passed over the lawyer’s face, and he picked up the case folder again, flipping through the papers. After a minute, he put the folder under his arm, and nodded. “Private Morrow, the hearing will likely be in a few days.” A small smile grew. “I advise you to keep hold of the words you just said. I advise you to list to me any witnesses of the authenticity of Ms. Salazar’s commitment, and vice versa. And I advise you to plead not guilty.”

  After I told him about Rita and Jake and the photos, Henry reassured Dad and me that, depending on how motivated the prosecutor was, he would likely not even have to use them. He stood. Before he exited, he looked back and forth from Dad to me. “I’ve defended cases like this before. From what I can see, you share something very real.”

  A micro version of the warmth I’d felt when I kissed Cassie two nights ago spread under my skin. It wasn’t over yet, but it was real. Even a stranger said it was real.

  Dad turned in his seat to look at the doorway, and we heard footsteps down the hall. He turned back to me, speaking quietly, deliberately. “You did a good thing. When you said you would testify. You didn’t bring her into this. You didn’t even bring up the possibility.”

  “Yes, sir. I want to keep her out of trouble.”

  He lifted his chin. “You care, huh.”

  “Damn right.” The words came quickly, sure. I had never felt more sure of anything.

  “Okay,” Dad said, standing. He looked down at me under his brows. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  There’s a photo of my dad from the day Jake was born, holding the little wrapped purple potato like a football. The long line of his mouth had become crooked with joy and awe. He’s looking up at my mother, the photographer, with dewy eyes.

  I had a strange thought once, that my dad, through no fault of his own, hadn’t had one of these moments at my birth. That was why I continued to disappoint him, because we never connected, and I never knew what he wanted from me.

  But when we glanced at each other as he left the room, I knew one of two things was true: that either I had been wrong all along, and we had had one of those moments to bond as infant and father and we had just forgotten; or, because I’d never witnessed such a look on his face—a look of surprise, sympathy, admiration, a look that said you are capable of great things—today, I had been reborn.

  Cassie

  I was sitting on my floor, my possessions scattered around me. When my phone rang with Luke’s name on the screen, I froze. It rang again. I couldn’t answer it.

  I hadn’t heard anything since the text from Jake yesterday. Now Josh van Ritter had made good on his promise to e-mail us. We’d head out for our first stop, Galveston, tomorrow. Next to me was a travel coffee mug, two pairs of underwear, some Bruce Springsteen records. All stuff I had collected from Toby’s. Over his bourbon, my soda water, and Nora’s advice, I’d finally told him that I had slept with Luke. When we’d parted, we’d exchanged a cold hug. It would get better.

  I would get better, at least, if I wasn’t put in jai
l. The phone buzzed, and Luke’s name appeared again. The vibrations hammered the floor like a woodpecker.

  What if the investigation was deeper now? What if he was calling me to say the police were on their way? Guessing was worse than knowing. I answered.

  “I’m downstairs,” he said.

  My heart jumped into my throat. “It’s open,” I said, and seconds later, I heard his heavy footfalls on the stairs. I tried to keep myself from shaking.

  If we were now both charged with fraud, he could be bringing news of prison, or some abstract version of prison I had been visualizing for two days. Either way, I would be living with people who wanted to hurt people, people who were stuck and angry and beaten down by the world. No, I would not be living with them. I would become one of them. The Loyal would be dropped from Wolf Records before we could even play one song. Nora and Toby, screwed out of their big chance. And every other part of my identity—my music, my friends, my mom—would be stripped from me and, considering how difficult it was for felons to get jobs, might never be returned. I should push past him now, I thought. I should run.

  I opened the door. At the sight of him, tall and clean, everything inside me seemed to float. He had lost the tension that was always there since I’d known him, the line in his forehead and between his eyebrows, this feeling of get me out of here.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hi.”

  Our voices were hushed, though they had no reason to be.

  “Can I come in?” he asked. Messages passed in nanoseconds. We were back in Frankie’s Lexus, scoffing at the absurdity of the eye contact exercise. We were across from each other at city hall, holding sweaty hands while the orange-shirted officiant rambled through the Serenity Prayer. We were in his dad’s backyard, laughing at JJ trying to climb on Mittens’s back. What did we do to each other? What did we do?