and currently training grunts east
of here at Marine Corps Air Ground
Combat Center Twenty-Nine Palms—
a stretch of California desert that
pretty much simulates Middle Eastern hell.
Cole just spent a month there in intensive
training. The idea that he might have met
Celine’s husband is kind of intriguing.
Ah, come on, whines Darian. All I want
is a dance partner who isn’t wearing a
skirt. But if that’s the best I can do,
it’s all good by me. Shall we, girls?
She tilts her head toward the dance
floor. Meghan, who is a little older
than me, shrugs and follows her.
Carrie, who is probably younger,
laughs and does the same. I’m staying
put. Celine and I watch in silence for
a few. Finally, a question bubbles up.
“Why didn’t you go to Twenty-Nine Palms?”
Celine smiles. Trade the ocean for desert?
Not even. Anyway, it’s only a temporary
assignment. I’m not going to pack up the kids
and move for a couple of months. He’ll be back.
Matter-of-fact. He’ll be back. Sooner
or later, they all are. One way or another.
“How long have you been married?”
How many times has he come back?
EVERY SOLDIER’S STORY
Is different. Every soldier’s story
is the same, or at least has some-
thing in common with every other
soldier’s story. Ditto the narratives
of those left behind. Girlfriends.
Wives. Husbands. Children. Parents.
What ordinary people forget is us,
left behind. How we cheer victories.
Weep at photos of flag-draped coffins,
even those enshrining the bodies
of warriors we have never met. Another
day, it might be our loved ones whose
fate dictates arriving home in a box,
shrouded by the red, white, and blue.
I keep that fact folded up and stashed
deep inside a small closet in my brain.
The same hiding place, I suppose,
a soldier buries the fear that feeds
aggression, the drive to lift a weapon
and determination to pull the trigger.
CELINE’S STORY
I fell in love with Luke in high school.
He’s from a long line of Navy men, and
wanted to enlist right after graduation.
His mom was dead set against it.
“Goddamn Navy took your father away
from me. I won’t have it, hear?” See,
Luke’s dad was a horrible husband.
Drank most of his paycheck, whored
around every time his ship anchored
in some foreign port. “You go to college,
son,” his mom told him. “Take care
of your lady like a decent man should.”
But Luke was determined to join up,
despite a brilliant GPA and SAT scores.
He talked to a recruiter who convinced
him he was officer material. And so he
compromised. We both attended UNLV
during the school year. But while I spent
summer vacations at home, Luke sweated
out Platoon Leaders Class at Quantico.
He graduated cum laude and accepted
his commission, then spent the next year
in Virginia, acing The Basic School and
specialized infantry officer training. When
they moved him to Camp Pendleton, we
tied the knot. That was eleven years ago.
SO HE’S A POG
Person Other than Grunt. Not
enlisted, and so, worthy of scorn,
at least in some soldiers’ eyes.
Still, some fast subtraction gives
me important information about him.
“So, he deployed for the Iraq invasion?”
POG or grunt, those Marines are legend.
Oh, yeah. Came home a hero, too.
America was all about taking out
Saddam Hussein. Too bad they forgot
the real-time cost of war, you know?
I do, all too well. “It must be hard,
having kids, when he’s gone.”
Celine smiles. In a way, it’s easier.
We have a routine, and I’m in charge,
so there’s no room for discussion.
When he’s home, believe it or not,
he’s a total pushover. Even at nine
and seven, the girls have learned how
to work their father. What’s hard . . .
When she pauses, everything about
her softens. What’s hard is having
to tell them he won’t make a birthday
or holiday. Again. The one thing
we can count on is we can’t count on
anything. Semper Gumby. After a while,
like it or not, you just get used to it.
Semper Gumby. Always flexible.
A seven-month deployment could go
eight or more. Whatever the situation
demands. I’ve already gotten used to it.
And I haven’t even put in half the years
she has, interwoven with a Marine.
“Does it ever get . . . I don’t know.
Too much? Have you ever considered
a life outside of the military?”
You mean, desertion? Her smile grows
wider. When Luke and I fight, of course
I think about leaving. But I never will.
I decided that when I agreed to marry him.
It has nothing to do with vows, though.
It’s about loving him, and I do, with every
molecule of my being. If I didn’t, I most
definitely wouldn’t be here right now.
THE MUSIC STOPS
One last question before the others
return to the table. “What did you mean
about Darian needing more men in her life?”
Celine’s smile finally drops. Look.
It’s really none of my business, and
probably not yours, either. But . . .
She glances toward the dance floor,
and my eyes follow hers. Meghan
trails Carrie down the hall toward
the bathroom. Darian, however, is at
the bar, leaning close to some generic
guy and flashing cleavage. Celine tips
her head, explains, Darian thrives on
male attention, as you know. Marine
wives talk. There are rumors. That’s all.
I can’t believe I had to ask her that.
I should have known the answer. Or maybe
I did. Do. Whatever. Right now, all I see
is Dar, flirting. That might bother me
more, except I still enjoy flirting, too.
Not quite as overtly as Darian, though.
EASY FLIRTATION
Is everywhere. Case in point, one
extremely good-looking man is currently
checking me out. Directly enough to make
me blush. He must notice because now
he offers me a beautiful let’s-do-it kind
of smile that might just lead somewhere,
if not for that little picture of Cole I carry
around in my head. Still, I color even
deeper. This time it’s Celine who sees.
“Sorry.” I turn my full attention back to her.
Don’t apologize. I’d turn straight
out purple if he smiled at me like that.
“Sometimes it’s just so hard, you know?
D
on’t you ever get lonely? I mean, for . . .”
Sex? A nice warm body beside me in
bed? Of course. That’s pretty normal.
“But you’ve never . . . well, I haven’t,
either. But I almost did once. Cole
had been gone, like forever. And this
guy was just so gorgeous. Sweet. Smart.
A gentleman, too. He never pushed
for anything, but God, I came close
one night. I even kissed him. And,
boy, was it hard to stop. But I did.”
Don’t beat yourself up about it.
You did the right thing in the end.
I finish my drink. “Yeah, but I was
so tempted to do the wrong thing.”
Look. You’re young. Healthy.
Your body responded to pleasant
external stimuli exactly the way
it’s supposed to. No big deal.
I have to smile. “You make lust
sound so clinical.” Logical, even.
It’s not exactly rocket science.
Especially if the guy was all that.
Look, being committed doesn’t
make you dead, but all those months
alone can make you feel that way
sometimes. You never signed on
for that. Embrace the moments
that let you know you’re alive.
Rewind
MY BEGINNING
With Cole was a long, slow kindle.
The first night we met, we sparked.
But, perhaps because we’re both
cautious by nature, we guarded
the flame, kept it smoldering low.
Darian and Spencer blazed. In
a way, I was surprised. Spence
reminded me of Darian’s father,
and the clichéd adage about a girl
wanting to hook up with a guy like
her dad didn’t seem like it should apply.
Darian didn’t much like her father,
a hard-nosed rodeo cowboy who traveled
the circuit and came home only long
enough to rest his horse, screw his wife,
and try to corral his wild child. Darian
was having none of it. Bastard never
taught me to tie my shoes or ride my bike,
and now he wants to tell me where
I can’t go and who I can’t see? Hardly!
Okay, Spence is a lot nicer than
Darian’s dad, but he carries himself
in a similar way—with an overabundance
of self-confidence. Not conceited, but
so sure of himself as to never admit
being wrong. Regardless, his and Dar’s
connection was immediate. Real. Primal.
I have no idea where Cole and I would be
today, if it wasn’t for our friends hooking
up that night, and staying hooked up for
the next four days, until the guys’ leave
was over and the next phase of training
began. Spence, who was out-of-his-head
in love with Darian from the start, wanted
to spend every minute with her, mostly
in the apartment she and I shared.
Cole had a choice—barracks, Uncle
Jack’s, or said apartment. For whatever
reason, he chose the last option. Spence
slept with Darian. Cole crashed on the couch.
AT LEAST
That was the original plan. Because,
as drawn to Cole as I was that first night,
I’ve never been the type to jump straight
into bed with a stranger. Not even a striking,
soft-spoken stranger with eyes that hold
on to you like they can’t get enough of you.
So, while Darian and Spence disappeared
inside her room, the door of which did
little to muffle all the moaning and yessing
behind it, Cole and I talked through the dark
hours, toward daylight. I loved the way,
when he spoke of his mom, his voice got
all silky. She wanted me to go to college,
even though money was tight. I was almost
through my second year when my kid sister
got sick. Fucking cancer takes the weak,
like wolves culling antelope. Annie fought
hard, but not good enough. Between doctors
and hospitals and the funeral, the savings
dried up. Two solid years of undergrad
behind him, Cole was considering work
in the natural gas fields when a savvy
recruiter snagged him. Told him he could
send part of his paychecks to his mother,
and college could come, paid-for, after
he fulfilled his commitment. He was still
considering his options when word came
that an Iraqi bullet had claimed his cousin
Eugene, who signed up for the Army while
he was still in high school. He was barely
voting age when he deployed. As Cole
told the story, his body tensed visibly,
and he squinted around the anger
that bloomed in his leonine eyes.
Son of a whore hajji shot Gene square
in the back, right through his heart.
I don’t much take after my bastard
father, except when it comes to revenge.
Eighteen is too fucking young to die.
I didn’t say I thought twenty-one was too
young to die, and it seemed a distinct possibility
for him, or any soldier, in search of revenge.
NEITHER DID I ASK FOR SPECIFICS
About his father. I didn’t know him well enough,
nor had I consumed nearly enough alcohol. Later,
I learned that Bart Gleason, who left Cole’s
mom two days before Cole’s ninth birthday,
was serving a life sentence for murder.
Seems the girl he left Mrs. Gleason for
wasn’t such a sweet, young thing after all.
Bart heard rumors about her sleeping around.
He followed her one night. Waited long
enough for her to get naked and knotted
up with another guy, then calmly blew
out both their brains with his favorite
.357 magnum. Probably a good thing
I didn’t hear the story that night. My own
parents are big subscribers to the old
“apple doesn’t fall far from the tree” theory.
I’d heard it all my life, and maybe believed
it, at least a little. By the time I found out
about Cole’s father, though, I loved my Marine
way too much to even think twice about it.
THAT KIND OF LOVE
For me is a once-in-a-lifetime,
planets-aligning-at-the-exact-
right-coordinates kind of thing.
I guess I always hoped it was
possible, but never let myself
believe it would happen any time.
I definitely wasn’t looking and
so I didn’t see it right away.
The kiss at the beach was sweet.
But it was only memorable in
retrospect. The kissing on
the couch quickly moved from
tentative cool to electric hot.
You can tell a lot by the way
a guy kisses. Cole kissed like
summer rain—barely wet,
the temperature of August
sky, thunder-punctuated. Delicious.
BREATHLESS
Heart thudding, I came very close
to giving him a lot more. I wanted to,
despite forever declarations to never,
ever invite one-night stands, and surely
>
that was all it would be. Cole is all-man,
and I can’t say he didn’t try, but when I
slowed him with a simple, “Can’t. Not yet,”
he respected the request, though not without
comment. You positive you’re a California
girl? He wasn’t clear about whether he’d
heard all California girls were loose or only
if all the ones he’d met so far were. “Meaning . . . ?”
He started to answer just about the time
Darian came stumbling down the hall
to the kitchen, hair like an eagle’s nest,
and wearing nothing but a T-shirt that
barely covered her crotch. Barely. Hey,
she slurred, sort of giving us the twice
over. Sorry. Thirsty. She grabbed a couple
of beers from the fridge. Staggered back
to her room. Cole and I looked at each
other and laughed. “Point taken,” I said.
“And if I don’t want to look like that”—
nodding toward Dar, who just then faded
into her room—“I probably better get
to bed. That, or scare the bejeezus out
of you in the morning.” Cole accepted
that with a not-hot kiss, then asked,
Don’t suppose you’ve got an extra
blanket? It’s cooling off fast in here.
I went down the hall, pulled the spread
off my bed. By the time I got back, he was
lying there, still as stone, eyes closed.
I covered him, turned away, and heard him
say, Thanks for the blanket. And for
the great evening. See you in the morning.
I liked how that sounded. And although I
was critically tired, it took a while to fall asleep.
WHEN I WOKE UP
It was full-on morning, light crashing
through the window in brilliant waves.
It took a few minutes to figure out why
I felt so anxious to get out of bed. Then
I heard a muffled male voice, Darian’s
high-pitched laugh, and the night before
tumbled back. Marines. Right. I went
straight for the bathroom to shower,
brush my teeth, and put on makeup.
Slid into silk panties, knee-length satin
shirt, a sexy-casual compromise. When
I slipped into the hall, the place was silent
except for the creak of Darian’s bed
behind her closed door. God. How
many times could you do it in a twelve-
Collateral Page 4