Sol (Love in Translation Book 1)

by Leslie McAdam

  Noises came out of my mouth, and I discovered that I was whimpering uncontrollably. I shoved my hands over my ears, but the blubbering still came.

  That breathing exercise at the yoga retreat terrified me. While Trent seemed peaceful during the pranayama practice, like he’d come to terms with something, when I tried it, my mind went into overdrive. Didn’t matter that I’d done it before. Didn’t matter that I had years of practice doing yoga breathing. Something about that retreat changed me.

  Just as Ana had predicted, I’d spent too many years unconsciously hunched over, protecting my chest and blocking my emotions. I subconsciously knew it was too painful to experience everything, so I’d blocked out anything but positive emotions. When yoga practice pushed me beyond the edge I’d been to before, opening me up, the anguish I’d suppressed filled me. I gasped for breath, every pore of my body infused with pain.

  And images rose up before my eyes. Of my ugly finger pointed at Degan’s chest when I screamed at him to leave. Of the smile ripped off his adorable face. Of his legs as bloody stumps, gone.

  I heard all the screaming. Even if it was my imagination, even if I wasn’t there in the Korengal Valley, I heard it.

  Pressing my fists to the side of my head, I still heard it now in my room mixed with my own sobs.

  Was this to be my fate? To only remember my brother as a tragedy?

  And did Trent only want me because he promised my brother?

  The hurt stayed in my body, settling like cement. I didn’t want to go through it. Or get over it. Or assimilate it. I just wanted it gone.

  Unfortunately, instead of the waves of grief I’d experienced before, which came and left, like circles on the surface of a pond after you threw a pebble in it, my misery now was permanent. I’d never get rid of it.

  It was my fault that I’d treated Degan so badly, and I could never take it back. And that rock, that boulder in my heart would never be dislodged. It pinched off any feeling except deep, utter grief and anger at myself, at Degan, and at the Universe. I couldn’t describe the depth of my self-loathing. Perhaps it would end somewhere, but right now I knew it was infinite. I stood, sinking, knee deep in quicksand with no way out.

  I kicked at the sheets on my bed.

  Why me? Hadn’t I suffered enough?

  I’d survived for years without my mom. Her death had taken away my optimism. But still, I tried to recover.

  Then my dad had died. I dealt with that by leaving and never coming back. Traveling from country to country, never stopping long enough to feel the heartbreak in my bones.

  Now, my brother had been cruelly murdered while fighting for something bigger than himself.

  I’d tried to stay still. To feel it.

  I couldn’t. The misery crushed me. My frame couldn’t handle it.

  Worse, I’d fucked up even more and pushed away Trent. Steady, courageous, handsome Trent. A man who worshiped the ground I walked on, quite literally.

  Pushing him away meant I severed a part of my body. Probably my heart.

  Could I live without him?

  No.

  But I couldn’t live with him either. A lump rose in my throat. I’d forced him to leave. Would he even want to come back to me, or was he giving me this letter as a goodbye before he took off.

  It lurked on the floor, willing me to open it. To see what he said.

  Just like I couldn’t read Degan’s letter, I couldn’t read his. It felt too final.

  A blaze of anger rose up from my belly.

  I’d had enough yoga for a lifetime. I didn’t want to do any more downward dogs, ever.

  I wasn’t fucking reading his letter from boot camp, and I wasn’t fucking staying in Spain one more minute.

  With a wrench, I yanked my bag out of the wardrobe and threw it on the floor next to the one from the weekend.

  Unzipped.

  And started throwing in clothes that were scattered on the floor.

  Saris from Bali. Gypsy skirts. Tiny thongs. Running shoes.

  All in.

  I’d leave the fairy lights and the candles. I didn’t need those. I just needed the basics. Some clothes, some toiletries, my laptop.

  The picture of my family.

  Fuck.

  I didn’t care if I was bolting.

  But a twinge of guilt hit me in the gut as I realized I was breaking my promise to Lulu.

  I’d promised her.

  I wouldn’t break my promise.

  If I couldn’t leave, I didn’t have to babysit the pain either. The only way I knew that it wouldn’t hurt, the only way I knew to sever the pain, was to shut it all down. It could just get locked up in a closet where I didn’t have to deal with it.

  I couldn’t run, and staying wasn’t working. If I went to school, I’d still have to deal with Trent sitting in the back, haunting me.

  What could I do?

  A still, small voice came to me.

  Start facing your life. Start facing what you’re scared of. If it’s gonna hurt anyway, might as well live life honestly.

  My laptop loomed in my bag.

  I stood up, determined.

  An overlooked place to start. If I was gonna clean up my life, I’d start with the 567 unread email messages.

  Gathering a cup of water, I sat down at the table, opened my laptop, and connected to Wi-Fi. Page after page, I scrolled until I found the oldest unread email.

  Spam. Of course.

  I started deleting and deleting.

  But I came to an email from Brian, sent weeks and weeks after we broke up.

  Dani,

  What the fuck? Why did you leave? Where did you go?

  Tell me where you are. I’ll come and get you.

  Brian

  I stared at that message and fire burned in my bloodstream. Why had I ever thought that I loved him? Why had I ever listened to him? Done what he said?

  On the surface, his philosophy jived with mine. A citizen of the earth. One who believed in conscious living.

  But he was a dickhead in conscious clothing. A control freak who stifled me. He’d weakened me so that I only thought of escape. Worse, he fed into my belief that if I loved someone, they’d get hurt—because I’d never really loved him. I just was with him. There was no intimacy. No need to really open up. We just traveled on the surface, on the crust of the earth together.

  But I was stronger now.

  I hit reply.

  Dear Brian,

  When I was sick in Peru with the fever, did you take care of me?

  No.

  You told me that sickness was dis-ease. That I’d caused it by negative thought. That modern medicine was the problem and if I just got in tune with the Universe, I’d recover. Since I hadn’t done that, I was sick.

  By blaming me, and teaching me to blame myself, it made me so sick I almost died.

  It was then that I realized you didn’t care about me. You didn’t love me. You only wanted to control me.

  That’s why I left. Because I deserve better.

  Where did I go?

  Anywhere you weren’t.

  Where am I now?

  None of your business. Never contact me again.

  Dani

  I hit send, and my hands shook. But I felt relieved. Stealing away in the middle of the night was a cop-out.

  Facing him directly?

  Assertive.

  Even though he scared me, I felt strong. Like I reclaimed a power I didn’t know I had.

  I let out a breath and kept scrolling.

  But I halted when I found an email from Degan I hadn’t read.

  Dani,

  Just a quick note to see how you are and where you are. I’m kinda sick of Army food. But they have cereal, so I survive. Where are you now? Do you like it?

  I’ve been doing some thinking. When I get out, I think I’m gonna apply to UC Santa Cruz. Be a banana slug like you. I researched their majors. Did you know I could minor in the History of Consciousness?

  Figure
d you’d like that one. Maybe you can go back, and we could study together.

  Actually, I don’t know what I’d study. Maybe math or biology. Or psychology. But I’ve got plenty of time to figure that out.

  Shoot me a line when you know where you are. Let’s meet up when I’m out.

  Love always,

  Degan

  Love always.

  I lingered on that email, reading it over and over again. Degan sounded like he always did. Hungry. Enthusiastic. Fun. Normal.

  Had I beaten myself up over our argument?

  I hit save on that email, archiving it forever.

  An email popped up from Brian.

  Dani,

  After months, this is what I get?

  Bitch.

  Fuck you.

  Brian

  Well, now that’s adult.

  I contemplated whether I wanted to respond.

  Old Dani avoided confrontation and anything that was uncomfortable, looking only for the fluffy unicorns and pretty bunnies that danced with the rainbows.

  New Dani was in the house, though.

  Dear Brian:

  There are some things antibiotics cure. Pneumonia is one.

  But they don’t cure douchebags like you.

  Have a nice life,

  Dani

  I’d admit that hitting send gave me heart palpitations. But it also gave me a sense of relief I hadn’t felt ever.

  I was in charge of me. I wasn’t letting him rule my feelings anymore.

  After more scrolling and more spam, I came to more recent emails. Including one from Trent dated a week before class started.

  Dear Dani,

  Long time no talk. Can you let me know where you are? It’s important.

  Thanks,

  Trent

  If I’d seen that earlier…

  Was I brave enough now to read what he wanted me to know?

  Yes, I was. I had to be.

  I leaned off my bed, picked up the letter, smoothed the envelope, and ripped it open, reading the words he’d written four years ago.

  Dear Dani,

  If you’re reading this letter, it’s because Degan handed it to you after I died. I hope he never has to hand this to you, and I can read it to you myself. Because I can’t think of anyone else who I’d want to spend the rest of my life with.

  If I’m dead, please know I’ve still spent my life with you. When I was in the barracks, I thought about hiking with you in the Muir Woods. When I ate in the mess hall, I wished you were there to tell me something more about the way the Universe works. When we went on patrol, the only thing I thought about, and the only thing I will think about is that hopefully, just hopefully, I’m making the world safer for you.

  Because you are the only thing that keeps me motivated. If I don’t have a beautiful world like the one you live in to protect, there is no point to living. There is no point to fighting. The only point there is in this military is for me to defend the values I cherish most dearly.

  And the value I cherish most dearly is that you have the right and freedom to create your own peaceful world.

  I know you’re my best friend’s sister. I know you’ve known me since I was eight. I know it’s all weird.

  I don’t care. I’m a man now. And I love you. I always have, and I always will.

  Please know that I died with love in my heart for you always.

  Love,

  Trent

  I crumpled in bed, tears streaming down my face, gripping Trent’s letter to my chest.

  He loved me. He’d always loved me.

  I knew that.

  I’d driven him away. He was the best thing that had ever happened to me, and I’d kicked him out of my life.

  Why?

  Because he made me feel.

  He awakened the losses I’d suffered. He made me aware of my inclination to bolt. He reminded me of the guilt I felt about my brother.

  And all those things were my own fault.

  I’d done too much on my own for too long.

  I buried my face in my pillow, still holding the letter in my hand.

  Trent. I belonged with him.

  He meant home, a home I hadn’t had in a long time. His voice soothed me. His brilliant eyes caressed me. He was the sexiest guy I’d ever known. And his heart? Open to me, always. He cared for me more than he did for himself.

  I needed to do something about that. He needed to know that not only did I love him, but he was worth loving.

  He really was a hero.

  My sobs came out in herky-jerky fits. I picked up the phone and called him. It went straight to voicemail. Fingers flying over the keypad, I texted him.

  Call me.

  Now I knew how it felt to try to get in touch with someone and not have them be available.

  Getting up, I ran to the bathroom. My hair looked like I’d stuck my finger in a socket, and my skin was blotchy and tear-stained. I splashed water on my face and gathered my hair in a bun.

  Then I grabbed my purse, keys, and phone and dashed out of the apartment.

  When I got to Lulu’s place, I wore out her apartment button.

  Her voice crackled over the intercom. “¿Quién es?”

  “Lu, it’s me. Dani. Can I come up?”

  She buzzed me in with no hesitation.

  God, what a wonderful friend.

  I ran up three flights of steps and pounded on her door. She opened it, saw my red eyes and nose, and hugged me, rubbing my back, stroking my hair.

  “I’m in love with him, Lulu, and I pushed him away,” I choked out into her neck. “I’m scared I lost him. We had a fight. Trent gave me a letter, and in it he told me he loved me. He wrote it four years ago, Lu. Four. Years. Ago. He’s been in love with me for years. And I’ve been in love with him. I don’t know when it started, but probably when he gave me a glass of water when I cried. Or hell, years ago. I don’t know.”

  Pulling back, she crossed her arms. “And you’re only just now figuring this out?” In contrast to my mess, Lulu’s place was ready to receive King Felipe VI and Queen Letizia of Spain at any moment. Every surface shined. Her cushions were neat and fluffed. Flowers adorned the middle of her dining table. She went into the bathroom and walked out with a box of tissues, which she handed to me.

  I took one gratefully and wiped my eyes. “Yes.”

  “I could have told you that you were in love with him before he got here. No one reacts that strongly to an acquaintance.”

  Wadding up my Kleenex and tossing it in my purse, I started pacing. “I think I thought, underneath it all, he’d be like Brian. That he’d order me around. Be a war monger. Have a fundamentally different philosophy of life than me. Wouldn’t a soldier want to tell me what to do all the time?”

  “I think that has nothing to do with being a soldier. That has to do with what kind of person you are.” She paused. “Besides, child, we all tell you what to do all the time. Doesn’t mean you’re gonna listen.”

  That earned her a rueful smile. “True.” I resumed pacing. “Trent doesn’t try to control me. He just treats me like I’m worthy of protection.”

  “You are.”

  “Well, he is a bit controlling in bed.”

  “Don’t wanna hear it,” she mumbled.

  My mirthless giggle turned into a hysterical sob. “What do I do now?”

  She sighed. “Well, now, that’s complicated.”

  “I know. I mean, I think I should just go to his place and find him—”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.” She got up, fished a letter out of her purse, and handed it to me. “Late on Friday, the administration came to see you, and since you weren’t in your office and they know we’re friends, they handed me this. I don’t know what it says, but I have my suspicions.”

  She passed me a sealed letter. I ripped it open. As I read, my stomach became rock hard, and the room spun. Beads of sweat gathered on my upper lip. I grabbed at Lulu’s upper arm to steady myself.
r />   “I’m in trouble.”

  Leaning in, she scooted closer. “That’s what I feared.”

  “Here.” I handed her the note from the committee. “I’m to have a meeting with the director. Tomorrow. About my liaisons with a student.”

  21

  Trent -- Therapy

  “Hi. I’m Trent Milner.” I moved my laptop so the camera pointed to me, my phone sitting to my side, as I kicked back on my bed, hoping that the hostel Wi-Fi was decent for an hour.

  A lavender-haired woman with a western shirt adjusted the web camera so it was on her face. “I’m Marie Thrash. Nice to meet you. Where are you right now?”

  “I’m in Granada, in the south part of Spain.”

  She signaled at the set-up. “While it’s unusual to have a therapy session over Skype, and even more unusual to do it on a Sunday, I’m happy to accommodate you. Why don’t you start by telling me what’s on your mind?”

  I almost laughed—what wasn’t on my mind—then I found myself telling her about the last month—Degan’s death, my nightmares, and how I ended up in Spain in love with Dani.

  “She knows how I feel about her, but it’s choking her. I need to let her be. It’s better for her.”

  “Why?” Marie’s question was asked gently, but it stung.

  I shifted on the bed. “Because she told me she doesn’t want a relationship. I tried to push her into it. And I think that was me trying to control her. I can’t do that anymore.”

  My phone buzzed. I picked it up. A text from Dani saying she wanted to talk.

  “Hang on. Dani messaged me.”

  “You can answer it.”

  I texted Dani, I’m on Skype with the therapist. Call you in 20.

  Then I continued talking. “I feel so empty. Like a bullet casing after it had been fired. I don’t know what I’m going to do after the army. And if Dani doesn’t want me…I’m so lost. I came here to tell her he died, but now…”