No one had approved of her. Sure, she was easy on the eyes – a fair, thin woman barely 100 pounds and fighting for every inch that made her a solid five feet tall. Her big blue eyes and bleached blonde hair matched her saline breasts and French-manicured nails. Amy Black had been the talk of the base. She always worked out during the lunch hour, catching the eye of many higher ups in the grunt gym that she faithfully frequented. And on several occasions, while none of the accusations had been founded, she had been linked to a couple of officers in the town bar.
No, no one had approved of her with her Southern charm and her short skirts, her incessant demands of Brett and her drama queen antics that had landed him in a few uncomfortable situations that caused him to move off the base and out of free housing into their current home - a place she had to have because she just couldn’t take being around other Marine wives.
Joe thought that Amy wanted to move out to Swansboro to have more privacy in order to do her dirt without anyone finding out. He believed the stories of her one-night stands with anything with rank and her desire to move up the Marine Corps ladder from being a Sergeant’s wife to being an officer’s wife with a blue sticker on the front of her blue Ford Focus instead of the red one she had reluctantly been forced to brandish.
Every opportunity she could get, she stressed to Brett the need for him to go to college and get a degree so that he could go to Officer Candidate School, never taking into consideration that while he was determined to be a lifer in the Marine Corps, he was also happy to be an enlisted man. It was her pressure on him that caused his relentless drive, even when he was already one of the best Marines in the fleet and her demands of him that caused his continued unhappiness with himself.
Joe was actually happy that she was gone, and while he hated that she had to go down in flames literally, he felt that she had gotten what was coming to her.
Brett finally snapped out of his daze and realized that they had been standing in silence for a while. Going back to the question that Joe had asked, he flipped the butt of his cigarette over the rail into the bushes and sighed. “Cameron should stay here with me. I’ll be alright. In fact, he might help me get through this.” He said so with hope.
“You sure?” Joe asked. “You have a lot to do. You have to plan a funeral with her family, get him into some kind of child care, see a counselor, get a lawyer to sue the pants off this airline and still be ready to rock and roll with the Corps.”
The list sounded daunting to Brett, but he pushed out his chest and rose to the occasion. “As long as I can call you guys if I need to, I think that I’ll be fine.”
“Well, you know you can call us. Judy only works part-time at the Naval Hospital. She’d love to help you watch Cameron.”
“Now that I’ve got some extra money, I think that I’ll try to get someone to come into the house and stay with him…just until I get up on my feet.”
Joe had nearly forgotten about the insurance money. Nodding, he thumped his cigarette. “Sounds good. Why don’t we leave Judy to do her thing? She’s going to be in there cleaning for a minute. And the kids are having fun in the back. You and I could go out to the beach. I think Anderson’s having a cookout tonight.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Brett said, fishing out his keys. “I could use something stronger than a beer right now, anyway.”
***
Emerald Isle was only a few minutes away from Swansboro, but it seemed as though Brett was driving into another world. He went from the quiet, tranquil middle-class community by the lake where his home was to the playground for retired officers and business moguls by the Oceanside.
The upscale homes that lined the waterway were all complimented by extravagant boats docked at their backdoors and luxury cars parked in their multi-car garages.
Palm trees swayed in the night air and sparkling stars and a full moon shone down on his black truck as he let his elbow rest on his open window. He looked around and shook his head. This is the life, he thought to himself.
Brett knew that he had no bright ambitions that would land him as a resident in Emerald Isle, and he had no desire to be anything other than what he was. Yet, when he drove over from his world to this one, he always felt a sense of wonder. What were the people who lived here like? How did the other half live? Did they have the same type of worries that he did? Did their wives leave in the middle of the night? Did they know what it was like to sign their lives over for another four years of possible death just to have sense of security for the moment? The world will never know, he thought to himself.
With a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and Kung-Foo Fighters playing on his radio, he watched the sun trail behind him as he drove over the bridge to his friend’s waterfront condo to let his hair down for a minute. He could feel Joe look over at him every once in a while to see if he had finally broken, to see if he had cracked. Yet, strangely enough, Brett still felt numb, which allowed him to hold it together.
“I’m fine,” Brett finally said, releasing smoke from his mouth.
“You sure?” Joe asked, turning down the radio.
Brett looked down at Joe’s hand. Didn’t he know that a man should never touch another man’s radio? Rush Hour 2 flashed through his mind and he cracked a smile.
Joe was confused by Brett’s sudden smile. Frowning, he sat back in his chair and put his elbow on the window. “Want to talk about it?”
Brett drove quietly, every once in a while checking his rearview mirror. “She didn’t love me,” he said flatly. “She was leaving me, and had it not been for the plane crash, she would have been in another man’s arms by tomorrow. How am I supposed to feel about that?” He looked over at Joe for an answer.
“You’re supposed to feel as betrayed as you obviously do feel. I know what hurts more is that she left Cameron.”
“Makes me wonder if she loved either one of us,” Brett concluded.
“Young women are hard to read. That is why I love Judy. She’s pretty dependable. She might not be a size two, but her heart is made of pure 14 carat gold.” Joe smiled at the thought of her, but he quickly remembered that his friend was mourning and reigned in his own joy. “What you need to focus on now is a plan.”
“You know what really ticks me off?” Brett said, going back to Amy. “And I don’t mean this in a racial way… she was leaving me for a black man. You knew Amy. She was by all accounts a racist.”
“Yeah, she was a redneck,” Joe said absently. He looked out the window.
Brett laughed. “Exactly.” He wiped his nose. “It just goes to show that I didn’t know that woman one damn bit.”
Joe smacked his lips. “Well, you can’t beat yourself up over it. You didn’t do anything wrong. Everything that happened came about because of her decisions. Karma’s just a bitch like that.”
Brett shook his head in agreement. Karma was a bitch, but at least for now it was in his favor.
***
Anderson’s place was packed at dusk. Marines and women crowded the small two-bedroom condo and spilled out onto the deck and beach. Music blasted on the stereo and the television played the New York Yankee’s baseball game. People hooked up on the couches and in the bathroom, while some just rolled around on the floor. It was by all accounts a party. Girls. Beer. Lots of making out. And no regrets. A perfect place for Brett.
While some of the men gathered at the grill to pass off food to those waiting, Brett stood talking to Anderson in the small kitchenette.
Quietly, he had told his good friend about his misfortune and received the almost exact response. Apathy. No one liked Amy. And no one was sad to see her go. They did not even pretend, which made it further possible for Brett to come to terms with his feelings.
Terry Anderson was a Staff Sergeant in Recon as well. Divorced twice and one kid, the clean-cut surfer spent most of his time chasing skirts or riding waves when he wasn’t at the base. And he had developed quite a reputation on base and in all the surrounding cities for being a womanize
r. However, he and Brett were close- nearly as close and Brett and Joe – because of the time that they had spent in Iraq together.
With his hand up against the vent of his stove, Anderson cooked baked beans and watched the young women as they passed by, sizing each one up for later. He finally looked over at Brett and shook his head. “Man that is fucked up,” he said in a deep, raspy baritone. His green eyes flickered under the light. “How is Cameron handling it?”
“He doesn’t know,” Brett answered solemnly. “I haven’t done anything a recently widowed husband is supposed to do. I haven’t contacted her family or made any arrangements. I mean, I’m at a fucking barbeque for Christ’s sake. If it weren’t already known how she had been killed, I’d be a suspect right now.”
Anderson lifted his brow. “How are you supposed to mourn her? She was ditching you.” Taking the pot off the stove, he emptied the food into a large bowl. “You know what you need to do? You need to go out there and pick one of those girls, take them into my bedroom and long stroke them. You’ll feel better.” He hit Brett on the chest as if he had just spoken the gospel.
“Don’t listen to this dumbass,” Joe said as a stern voice of reason. “How is long stroking some woman going to solve his problems, Anderson?”
“Once he gets some of the blue off his balls, he will be able to fix things. Right now, he’s too fucked up in the head,” Anderson answered.
“This is why he’s been divorced twice,” Joe said, hoping Brett didn’t see any merit in what Anderson was saying. “He’s an idiot. Been blown up too many times in combat. This mother fucker should be drawing down all 100% from the VA.”
Anderson put up his hands. “How long has it been since you were laid?” he asked Brett.
Brett hunched his wide shoulders. “I don’t know. Two months.” He was lying. It had been three.
“Two months,” Anderson said disappointed. “And you’re married…were married?” He was in complete disbelief.
Brett lowered his voice to avoid anyone hearing him. “Yeah, Amy and I were having problems,” he said a bit put off.
“You owe it to yourself,” Anderson said slyly as he put his hand over Brett’s shoulders. Pointing into the living room, he sipped on his beer. “Take your pick. There are short ones, tall ones, old ones, young ones. Whatever your heart desires. And you’re a fucking grunt. Women love that shit. Hell, they put out and don’t even expect a call back just so they can tell their girls that they’ve had a Recon man. What more could a single man ask for? Why take the job if you aren’t going to enjoy one of the main benefits.”
“The clap is not a benefit,” Joe countered.
Brett’s eye twitched. “I’m not single.”
“You’re not married anymore either. Till death do you part, man,” Anderson said, winking his eye at a woman across the room who waved at them. “Oh, yeah. She’s getting it tonight.”
Brett raised his brow at Anderson’s statement and sighed. While he had surely been an absentee husband most of his marriage, he had at least been faithful. However, Anderson was right about one thing. He was single. And the reality of what being single meant both exhilarated and depressed him. The dating scene was not all that people made it out to be. If it was, then why did all his divorced friends constantly try to remarry again? There was something to be said about the institution of marriage as long as you weren’t married to Amy.
Brett pulled away. “I’m going to step outside and have a cigarette,” he said, leaving Anderson to sniff out the woman sending mixed signals across the room.
Joe had made his way to the grill. He was definitely not here for the women. With two plates in his hands, even after Judy had just cooked for them, he focused on adding on a few pounds and guzzling down free beer. Eyeing Brett as he made his way towards the beach, he raised his half-empty beer bottle to him, mid-conversation, and went back to filling his plate.
***
The tranquil breeze coming in from the roaring ocean seemed to calm Brett’s thoughts. Cooling the sticky sweat around his shirt-collar as it whipped past him, he closed his eyes and felt the wind surround him. Funny how just one of God’s many invisible forces made him feel so small and insignificant. Running the cold beer bottle over his hot skin, he pulled off his shoes and walked barefoot up the quiet trail, wiggling his feet in the wet sand.
For a moment, he was allowed to just think. A flash of Amy in her simple, white wedding dress came to mind, the smell of her perfume, the flicker of golden hair under her veil. He remembered when she was just an innocent girl with hopes of a blissful future. They used to lay in bed on a Saturday morning and talk about what it would be like to grow old together. He remembered how she would make him laugh with her spontaneous new hobbies or attempts at fame.
He recalled a few years ago when she had emerged from the shower soaking wet and covered in suds, proclaiming that she was going to be the next American Idol. They had driven two hours to Raleigh to tryouts so that she could sing her own rendition of Elvis Presley’s Love Me Tender. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that she sounded horrible. Instead, he had chosen to act surprised when she had emerged from the auditions with teary eyes and a bad (in fact dreadful) response from one of the judges.
Still, he had enjoyed her vitality, when she still had it. He never could put his finger on when they had lost their way. It was somewhere in between the cities of Iraq and the fewer and fewer calls he made home. Every time he called, she was more distant and he was more occupied. Towards the end of his last tour, he simply left messages on the voicemail. Amy had stopped picking up, claiming always to be out running errands. If he were truly honest, he had seen it coming. They had simply fallen out of love with each other, yet he didn’t want to think that it could happen to him. He never thought that she would just leave.
Taking another swig of his beer, his thoughts quickly shifted. Anderson was right. It was most unusual that a couple so young would go so long without sex. He wondered if she had been involved in a sexual relationship with the Jermaine character from the phone. There had been so many accusations over the years. The rumor was that his Amy had a thing for officers. She always wanted him to be an officer, to go through the steps, to make the grade. She could never understand that he was happy being just who he was.
As the tide came rushing in, a figure in the distance pulled him from his thoughts. Carrying a purple surf board, a shapely dark-skinned black woman in a yellow bikini came out of the water. In one arm, she carried her board and with the other, she ran her hand over her long black locks that spilled over onto her muscular shoulders.
He was walking directly in her path and stopped for a moment to make sure that his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. She was like a beautiful mirage in a hot desolate desert.
Throwing her board down, she pulled at the strings of her bikini and looked around. Planting her gaze on him, she raised her hand and waved. A perfect smile erupted from her lips revealing pearly white teeth.
He turned to look, making sure before he embarrassed himself that she was actually waving at him. Did he know her? Surely, he would remember her.
With a mean sway to her wide hips, she walked towards him, kicking the sand under feet. And with each devastating step that she took, she caused a strain in his heart. Her skin glistened even in the darkness. Confidence poured off her like the water that dripped from her moonlit hair. It was like he had seen an angel but without wings.
“Hey Marine,” she said in an upbeat voice. “Funny seeing you here.”
Brett squinted.
“Remember me from the library?” she asked, catching her breath.
As she got into full view, Brett realized that it was the librarian from Swansboro. His words caught in his throat as he watched her emerge from the blackness like a gift from God Almighty.
“Yeah, I remember you,” he said in a deep baritone. His eyes lit up. She kept having that effect on him. Every time she was around, he felt lighter, if there was such a
thing.
Wiping her face again, she looked up at him with her hands on her hips. “You live over here?” she asked, looking back at the party a few hundred yards away. “Or are you one of Anderson’s friends?”
“You know Anderson?” he asked, raising his brow.
“Not in the Biblical-sense, no. I’m his neighbor…unfortunately.” She looked back at her board. “I figured since he was going to keep me up with the racket, I might as well catch a few late night waves.”
“Isn’t that illegal?” he asked, looking at the intense waves as they came beating against the shoreline. She had to be pretty brave to ride those.
The Grunt Page 4