Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1)

by Ani Keating

  “So we got ready—my entire squad—battle rattle, groin protector, eight magazines of ammo each, knife, two bologna sandwiches, bag of Ruffles. Marshall had this ritual before every mission—he’d sing ‘I’ve Got a Woman’. Day or night. Didn’t give a fuck who was sleeping. So we belted it out while I skimmed the pipe map, and we set off. On foot of course, how else do you survey pipes?

  “God, they reeked! Pitch black. In some elbows, we had to crawl, me at the helm because I remembered the way.

  “‘Storm, your brain’s the best fucking thing that’s happened to this platoon,’ Marshall laughed.

  Aiden swallows and for a long moment, he doesn’t speak. Nor do I, now that I realize why he morphed when I spoke those very similar words.

  “Anyway. We came out by a middle school, close to the central city market, cammies soaked in sweat. All seemed normal. It was still early. Some kids were out in the schoolyard, playing soccer with a Marine helmet. Then, boom!” He whispers the last word. “The yard imploded. The street. The market. Boom, boom, boom!

  “A little torso landed between Cal and me. No bigger than that green bucket. Rib cage apart, bits of lung stuck to the ribs like sponges…” He pauses and swallows hard, as though bile rises in his throat.

  “We dug out of the rubble—coughing, spitting, puking. Hendrix kept shouting for us to get back to Volturno. ‘In fifteen minutes, we’ll have hajjis on our ass, Storm. They’ll skin us alive and sell our balls for falafel.’ …But how do you walk away from something like that? How do you at least not check to see if a single child has survived? There’s honor even in the way you wage war.

  “So we spilled into the yard, searching for life. Nothing but bodies smattered on rubble. We tried putting some together—you know, for the mothers to bury.

  “It was easier for me to match the body parts. This hand’s skin looks like that foot’s. This arm has the same striped shirt as that arm…” His throat convulses.

  “That’s when they found us… A guerilla band of insurgents, three times our number. They fired on sight, two Marines down on the same bodies they tried to save. We retreated inside the school—Marshall and I in a classroom on the second floor, Cal and Hendrix on the third.

  “We were firing out into the yard, giving cover to Jazz and the others. Then—”

  He stops abruptly, his gaze never leaving my jawline. His eyes are dark midnight still, but a fleck of turquoise glimmers here and there, like the light is battling the dark. He presses his back firmly against the bench, shoulders more rigid than I’ve ever seen them. Still, he does not speak. I don’t know for how long.

  “Then what?” I whisper at last, gripping the crook of his arm.

  He shrugs. “I don’t remember.”

  “What?”

  “There are a few minutes—ten, maybe fifteen—that I don’t remember. The last thing I recall is a sharp crack in the back of my skull, then nothing. Nothing until I opened my eyes—or rather one eye, this was swollen shut—and saw the clusterfuck we were in…

  “Seven insurgents. Three restraining me. Four playing Russian roulette with Marshall’s toes. They had tied these steel cables around me, twice across the shoulders, three around the elbows behind my back. You get the idea. Then they unleashed themselves on Marshall…”

  Another long, immeasurable silence. When he speaks next, his voice is gravelly.

  “They did things to him I’ve never seen done to an animal, let alone a man. If I fought them, they’d cut off some body part. If I behaved…” He shudders.

  “I started bartering with them in Arabic. What did they want? Let’s talk. They wanted a live Marine to sell to al-Qaeda. ‘Big money for Marines.’ I said, ‘Fine, let him go, I’ll come with you. I speak Arabic, Farsi, was trained in intelligence. I’m the man you want.’ They started whispering to each other and finally said yes. Untied Marshall, kicked him, ‘Go, pretty boy.’

  “He wouldn’t leave. I begged him to leave. ‘Goddamn you, go. You’ve got a woman. Two sisters, a mother. Go…’

  “He started crawling to the classroom door, inch by inch, streaks of blood behind him. Then he turned to look at me. I couldn’t see his nose anymore. Or his lips. But I know he smiled…” Aiden’s lips lift into a small smile and he closes his eyes. Even though I’m shivering, I smile too. They both made it, somehow. If that doesn’t make a scientist believe in providence, nothing will.

  He opens his eyes and grips my hand.

  “They shot him.”

  “No!” My gasp rends the air as my hand flies to my mouth.

  He nods. “Seven times…one bullet each. He was gone with the first. Has been gone ever since…”

  In the long, deafening silence, I replay all the times I’ve mentioned Marshall’s name and see his reactions with new eyes. His flashback. His thousand-yard stare. He always cut me off or changed the subject. But he also never lied. Marshall is still alive to him. Still his best friend.

  “Who saved you?” I mouth, all voice gone.

  “Cal and Hendrix.” He shrugs as though this should not matter. “We destroyed them all…”

  He skips everything they must have done to him, all the terror for himself, and for the first time, he looks away from my jawline and into my eyes.

  “That’s the kind of man you’re with, Elisa. The one who killed his own brother.”

  Because of me, he said when I asked why Marshall wasn’t going to the cabin.

  Abruptly, I’m furious. Claw-through-the-earth-to-the-desert furious. At everything. At everyone who did this to him. “Aiden, you didn’t kill anyone who didn’t deserve it. You didn’t kill Marshall. You—”

  He puts his index finger on my lips. “I made the call for us to stay in that schoolyard. I didn’t bargain right. I didn’t rip through those cables fast enough. I— Believe me, Elisa. This is all on me.”

  “No, it isn’t! This is not your fault. Baby, even your startle reflex—which obviously resulted from this torture—was not out of fear for yourself. It was out of fear for a friend. And you live with it every day.”

  “That doesn’t change anything.”

  “It changes everything! Everything. This was not your fault. You bartered with your own life. What else could you give?”

  “Stop, please.”

  “No, I won’t! I will never stop telling you this. No matter where I am. This was not your fault.”

  “Elisa.” His voice is low, almost defeated. At the new timbre, I realize what a fighter he is. About everything but this. And because of that, for the first time, I want him to be furious. Yell at me, rip this whole garden from the roots, do anything but this surrender.

  “Marshall would not have wanted this. You’ve got to live, Aiden—live for two, not for none. Remember what you told me about my parents?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “You said I need to start living my own life. Sweetheart, you have to do that too.”

  “Elisa, baby, please…one step at a time.” He looks at his black sneakers.

  At his weak voice, I lose all fire. My stomach starts twisting but I relish the pain—what else can I give to him that he will accept? I shove my fear and anger aside so I can use them later to fight this with him. Then I take a deep breath and, very slowly, wrap my arms around his neck.

  He looks up. His eyes are lightening. Slowly but surely. I want to tell him I love him. I want to shout it. The only thing stopping me is that his memory will associate my I love you with this painful moment for life.

  “I’ve never been more in awe of you,” I tell him. “Nothing you’ve told me changes my feelings. In fact, it makes them stronger.”

  He smiles dimpleless. “Well, you still have plenty left to see. You’ve chosen to live with this for a while.”

  For a while? Forever.

  I kiss him. Here, in this garden that now has both our st
ories, not caring an atom who sees us. At first his kiss is light. Then it changes. His tongue and lips don’t move with their usual domination. Just a slow togetherness. For a long time, until the shade of the rose hedges falls over us. When he pulls away, he is as breathless as I am.

  “You’re the first person—the only person—I’ve told that story to.”

  “I’ll keep it well,” I say, kissing his scar. “What was Marshall’s name?”

  “Jacob. Jacob Samuel Marshall.”

  “Maybe we should plant a rose for him?”

  He smiles. His voice is returning. “I don’t know. Flowers were not his thing.”

  “What about a tree? In our new garden at home?”

  The dimple forms. “If you want.”

  “What tree should we pick?”

  He shrugs. “You’re the scientist. Never asked him what trees he liked.”

  I tuck it away for deep study tonight. It’s a giant leap that he is even considering it. He takes a deep breath and only now I notice how rare his breaths were during the story.

  “Come,” he says, rising to his feet and tucking my hand in his arm again.

  I follow him, not caring where. It makes no difference. We leave the Shakespeare Garden, snapping a picture of Lady Clare’s blooms. Benson walks large some distance behind us. Aiden retraces our first steps under the tunnel of climbing roses. Every time we see a passerby, we stop and wait for them to stroll away. His muscles never stop vibrating. All the way to the fountain in the center. He smiles and digs in his pocket.

  “We can’t leave without your wish.” He tips a few quarters in my palm.

  I kiss his hand and turn my back on the fountain. I have so many more wishes this time. For him to love me. For him to keep me. For the green card to come through. I ignore them all again, blow on the coins and throw them behind me. Plop. Plop. Plop. Then I turn, knowing his face is waiting for me exactly as our first night.

  “What did you wish for?”

  “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

  “Or maybe it will.”

  “I wished for you to get better, to allow love in your life and to forgive.”

  His eyes are now clear sky. Without looking away from me, he reaches in his back pocket for his iPhone and taps a few numbers from memory.

  “Doctor Corbin, please… Aiden Hale… Yes, Doctor, this is Aiden Hale, you—oh, you remember…thank you…”

  I listen to him make an appointment for next Tuesday with a clenched throat. He stares at his black sneakers, kicking an invisible pebble. He hangs up as soon as he politely can.

  “This should be interesting,” he says with a most un-Aiden-like tight smile. He kicks the invisible pebble some more. I’ve never seen him more uncomfortable.

  “Thank you,” I say, caressing his scar and reaching on my tiptoes to kiss him.

  He frowns and for a moment, I fear I triggered another flashback. But it’s not me this time. His phone has buzzed again. Bloody hell! I almost rip it off his hand and throw it in the fountain, but he answers it before I can.

  “Bob?… Yes, yes, she’s here.”

  I’m immediately sober. He shoves the phone in my shaking hand.

  “Hello?” I whisper, my voice all gone again.

  “Elisa, this is Bob. We may have a problem, dear.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Rightness

  The rose-covered horizon sways and tilts as if I’m falling. A strong arm clutches at my waist, holding me upright.

  “What problem?” I gasp.

  “Put him on speaker,” Aiden fires before Bob has a chance to answer. I try to press the speaker button but my hands are shaking so badly that Aiden takes the phone from me and does it himself.

  “Bob, you’re on speaker. What’s the issue?” he demands in his hard business tone.

  “Well, we just learned that the Department of Justice has launched a full investigation of Feign Art for consumer fraud and tax evasion. They’re inspecting everything, from his client roster to his personal finances.”

  “What does that mean for me?” I splutter.

  “It means that they’ll most likely discover your under-the-table work.”

  “But how will they know my name? I’m not on any personnel files.”

  “Apparently, there was video footage of you from the security camera, as well as sketches and some photos, dear. The DOJ did their normal procedure and ran them against the Homeland Security database. You’re on there because you’re a foreign national. So now, they want to question you to see what you know about Feign’s business and what you do for him. Our contact confirmed you’re on the list of persons of interest.”

  The horizon tilts again. “Were there any other names on the list?” Not Javier. Please, not Javier.

  “Ah, let’s see.” Some shuffling of papers. “Feign, his family, a Kasia Moss, accountant, financial advisor, landlord, a supply deliveryman. Why?”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. Nothing that could lead them to Javier. I say a silent thank-you to every power that Javier always followed the rules and used the secret back door. “Just…nothing,” I answer a little late. “What happens now?”

  A small pause. “Well, if they learn you’ve worked illegally, that could mean anything, even—well, let’s meet in my office first thing tomorrow morning and discuss options.”

  I know his unfinished sentence. Even denial of my green card. My knees give out. The same strong arm breaks my fall before my face hits the fountain edge.

  “Not tomorrow, Bob. Now!” Aiden hisses through his teeth.

  “I can’t, Mr. Hale. I’m due in court—”

  Bob’s words become disjointed, scrambled, until his voice fades into silence. The garden vanishes. No gurgling fountain. No rose-scented air. All that’s left is a dark void. And me.

  Oxygen, 15.999— A gust of cinnamon breath on my face reactivates my lungs. Once, twice. Slowly, the smell of roses seeps through. Then Aiden’s midnight eyes and his body heat around me. And finally his voice—back to its furious, dominant timbre.

  “And Bob?”

  “Yes, Mr. Hale?”

  “I will say this only once. England. Is not. An option. I don’t want to hear it tomorrow, the day after or ever. Is that clear?”

  A moment of silence follows his words.

  “I understand, Mr. Hale,” Bob wheezes at last. “And, Elisa, please try to sleep tonight. We’ll do our absolute best on this.”

  It takes another gust of cinnamon air for me to find my voice. “Thank you, Bob,” I choke.

  Aiden hangs up and tightens his arms around me. “Hey! Shh, shh,” he murmurs, sitting on the fountain edge and folding me on his lap.

  The shivers I was managing to contain break through, and I start convulsing.

  “I’ve got you. I won’t let them hurt you. Just breathe, baby. I’m here.” He kisses my cheek, my temple, my hair.

  But his words give me no comfort. They only remind me of what’s at stake. Of how much more there is to lose.

  “Shh, baby, shh. Hydrogen, 1.008. Helium, 4.003,” he recites slowly, in rhythm with the circles he draws on my back. He runs through the table five times before the shivers start receding. Still, his fingers never stop caressing my shoulders. I focus on their motion, imagining letters, words. L—o—v—e.

  “Say something,” he croons, tipping my face up to look at him.

  The moment I meet his eyes, the question I’ve never asked him breaks through. “What if I have to leave?”

  His shoulders twitch once. “We’ll fight this with everything we have,” he says fiercely.

  But I hear what he can’t promise me: that it will not happen.

  “Let me see what I can find on that fucker, okay? I want anything that can get us leverage.” He sneers as he refers to Feign, and his foot start
s tapping. Itching for action. I nod to give us both some relief.

  He bolts to his feet—somehow managing to hold me to his side without a single jostle—and starts firing orders at Benson. I hadn’t noticed him hovering next to us even though his shadow darkens half the fountain. His forehead is crumpled like Javier’s.

  “Find everything you can on that motherfucker. Grandparents, cousins, fucks, doctors, schools, banks. Then get me a list of every investigator involved—full briefs on them, their staff and their families. Full building sweep. Trail on Feign twenty-four seven. Download at twenty-three hundred.”

  “Yes, sir.” Benson almost salutes him.

  “I’ll call Sartain and Congressman Kirschner, and then head over to Boley Law Library. I want to read these fucking laws myself!”

  Before Benson can nod again, Aiden grips my hand and starts marching across the Rose Garden. His face is so thunderous that visitors—and their dogs—give us a wide berth on their own.

  “Aiden?” I rasp as I stumble and trip to keep up with him. “Can I call Javier from your phone? I have to warn him.”

  He hands me his iPhone without breaking stride. “Tell him to avoid that whole area.”

  I dial Javier, praying to every high power I can think of that he picks up. The powers answer. Or maybe I’ve depleted all the bad luck in the world. I splutter and huff everything as I jog next to Aiden.

  “So you have to stay away from the gallery, Javier. Just don’t go around there at all! Please!”

  “I won’t,” Javier mumbles, his voice sounding too far, too weak. Suddenly, I want to sprint to him, not the library. Hold him like he has held me all these years.

  “Don’t worry, they don’t have your name or any footage of you. This is just a precaution.”

  “I know. I just wish that asshole had told me the truth, not left me a message barking about vacations. Not to mention all the cash we’ll lose from this.”

  “Don’t think about that. We’ll figure something out,” I say as we reach the trellis and Benson races across the parking lot to get the car.