THE GRUNT CODE OF HONOR
Keep each other’s backs, at all costs.
Your buddy is your brother. I’m grateful
for that. In more ways than one. Today,
I’m happy to be driving up to the North
Shore with Cole. We cut up the center
of the island, where it’s mostly pineapple
fields. It’s prettier driving up the East
Shore, but it takes longer, Cole explains.
Since we got such a late start, I figured
this way would be better. It’s forty-five
minutes from Honolulu, with Cole
driving sort of like a maniac. It might
not be so bad, but the Jeep is both window-
free and roofless. Nothing but a roll bar
between our heads and the cloudless azure
sky. “Glad we’ve got a windshield. Not big
on bugs in my teeth.” That makes Cole
laugh. When we get to Haleiwa, he pulls
into the parking lot of a little market.
Stay here. I’ll be right back. He goes
inside and I wait, stomach growling,
enjoying the tepid breeze blowing off
the sea. The day is perfect. This time
of year is usually the start of the rainy
season. The weatherman on the radio
complains about how dry it’s been, but
considering the state of the Jeep,
I’m quite content. Cole emerges,
carrying two big shopping bags
and grinning like a leprechaun.
A very tall, very buff leprechaun.
“You look unusually happy.”
Maybe the happiest I’ve ever seen
him, an observation I don’t make
out loud. He puts the groceries
in back, jumps over the rocker
panel, into the seat. I am, my lady.
I am. I thought we could lunch at
Waimea Bay. You’ll like it there.
It’s a short drive to one of the most
famous beaches in the world. Rain
or no rain, the ocean is rough,
the breaks big. I’d love to see them
when they swell to thirty feet. “Wish
you would have borrowed a board, too.”
Oh, hell no. You might think you’re
Surfer Girl, but I wouldn’t let you
out there on a board. The guys who
ride over here are fucking insane.
I bristle more than a little at the idea
of him thinking I need his permission
to do anything. But I refuse to argue.
THERE’S A NICE PICNIC AREA
With tables beneath a fringe of palms.
We find one empty, and Cole spreads
his feast—deli sandwiches, papaya
and pineapple salad, baked barbecue
chips. My favorite. He remembered.
And now, the piece de resistance.
“Champagne? Are we celebrating
something?” Surely not deployment.
Maybe. He pops the bottle—the first
bottle. He bought three. Pours two
plastic glasses. Hands me one, lifts
the second. Here’s to you and me.
It’s even good champagne. My curiosity
is screaming, but this is his party. We
sip. Eat. Surf watch. People watch.
Several climb a huge rock, jutting out
into the ocean. They jump, catching
the turquoise water swirling around
the outcropping’s feet. As my head grows
fuzzy, I ask, “Think we should do that?”
Are you kidding? I know it’s supposed
to be safe. I also know there’s a major
rip out there. A wise grunt only
takes measured risks. Not that
every Marine follows the Corps
recommendation. Some guys are,
like, total jerk-offs when it comes
to offering up their necks. He thinks
awhile. Once, I watched this kid—
he wasn’t much more than eighteen—
mess with a fucking sand viper,
just to prove it couldn’t bite through
his boot. You know what? It couldn’t.
But when the snake struck, the kid
fell backward and his weapon went
off. Asshole shot himself in the foot.
His boot couldn’t stop a goddamn
bullet. He laughs. Mean laughter.
A little shiver runs up my spine
and the mouthful of sandwich
I’m trying to swallow sort of lodges
in my throat. Champagne takes care
of that. It takes care of a lot, including
chasing away the image of a striking viper.
AFTER LUNCH
Wearing my hot purple bikini
and a cool champagne haze
I open a big beach blanket,
spread it over the tree-shaded
sand. Cole lies next to me, and
we smoosh into the cushion
of the sand. It folds up around
us. I snuggle my head against
his shoulder. “Hey. I thought
you didn’t like the beach.”
This one is better than most,
he admits. But anyplace is better
when you’re this close to me.
We fall quiet for a while. Listen
to the wish-wish of gentle surf.
“One day we need to play tourist.
Visit the other islands. Maybe ride
bikes down a volcano or something.”
He shakes his head. Once I leave
here, I’m never coming back.
Can’t stand being on an island.
No place to go but round and round.
We haven’t really talked about
life after the Marines. His initial
commitment is another three
years. But after that . . . What?
“So, you’re thinking about leaving?”
Eventually. I mean, everyone
does, right? I can only advance
so far as an enlisted. And who
knows what vile new conflict
the Pentagon has in mind?
A nervous thrill rushes through
me. Does he really mean it?
I kind of thought he might just
stay entrenched in the Corps
forever. This is all news to me.
Would you still love me if you
had to put up with me every day?
I nuzzle tighter against him.
Kiss his chest. “Of course I would.
Especially if you promised to take
the trash out. Dumpsters scare me.”
Hang on. He gets up, goes over
to the table. When he returns,
he has two glasses of champagne.
Remember I told you I had a surprise?
He hands me both glasses, reaches
into his shorts pocket. Extracts
a small gold box and opens it,
anticipation in his eyes. Inside
the box is a diamond ring. Blood
rushes so loudly in my ears, I barely
hear, Ashley. I love you. Marry me.
Rewind
COLE LEFT FOR IRAQ
The second time in the spring
of 2009. Our relationship
was a little over two years
old. It still felt very young.
Time together. Two baby steps
forward. Longer time apart.
Half a dozen giant steps back.
Figure in a major argument
just weeks before deployment,
everything felt shaky, at least
to me, when he shipped out.
He would have disputed that.
&n
bsp; As far as he was concerned,
we stood, inextricably linked,
atop rock-solid ground. I’m not
really sure why I let him believe
that. Maybe it was, at least in
part, because Darian often shared
Spence’s accusation-filled letters
with me. I didn’t want Cole to think
those things about me. I would
never fool around with someone
else unless Cole and I severed
our relationship completely.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
COLE’S BATTALION TOUCHED DOWN
At Al Asad Airbase in the lovely
sandstorm-ridden Al Anbar province,
where summer temperatures hover
around one hundred ten. Not long
after they arrived, he e-mailed:
THE BASE ITSELF ISN’T SO BAD.
WE’VE GOT A POOL. AND A GYM.
AND BECAUSE BRASS AND POLITICOS
FLY IN HERE A LOT, THE FOOD IS GOOD.
I MISS YOU ALREADY. LOVE YOU ALWAYS.
Their mission was security—keeping
the local citizenry safe, whether or not
they liked the idea. Running regional
detention facilities. Those guys definitely
didn’t like the idea. Manning checkpoints.
Handling dogs trained to sniff out IEDs
and insurgent weapons caches. Some
units stayed on-base while performing
their duties. Off-hours were spent taking
online courses and improving their fitness
in general and martial arts in particular.
For most, boredom was once again
their most obvious enemy. They got
regular care packages and mail, and
computer time was generous. The “lucky”
ones, however, were sent to COP Heider,
a joint operations command outpost on
the Syrian border. Here, they were also
charged with security. High-priority,
much-more-dangerous security.
LIVING CONDITIONS
At COP Heider were austere, as Cole
later explained. Later, because when
he first arrived, there were no computers.
They were on order, but it would be some
months before they were installed. Mail
was delivered, but it crawled in and out.
With communication largely impossible,
I didn’t hear from him for many weeks.
Unless you’ve experienced the stress
of not knowing your soldier’s status,
you can’t possibly understand it.
Is he or she safe outside the wire?
Uninjured? Alive? You stumble through
each day the best you can, pretending
everything is fine. It simply has to be,
in your waking mind, or you’d dissolve
into a useless mass of shattered hope
and broken promises. Promises like:
I’ll always come back to you, Ashley.
You are my collateral. My reason
to return, no matter what. Believe it.
Belief is easier when your soldier can
contact you. When “collateral” isn’t
paired in your paranoia with “damage.”
I COMBED THE INTERNET
For news of casualties. Found
a nameless few. Since Cole and I
weren’t married, the Corps wasn’t
bound to release information to me.
It was probably my biggest frustration.
At least, it was until I met Jaden.
He was a senior at State. Everything
Cole wasn’t. California native. Liberal
arts major, focused on film. Fact:
he had more money than ambition,
something his parents didn’t argue
with. He was stunningly Irish, with
black hair, fair skin and indigo eyes.
Worst of all, he was unfailingly patient,
when I made it clear from the get-go
I was not on the hunt for a new man.
I wasn’t. But goddamn it, I was lonely.
More than a little scared. Tired of playing
lady-in-waiting to a tiger-eyed soldier
who might very well be dead. The night
I met Jaden, I’d finally decided enough
worry was enough worry, and sleep
would come easier under the influence.
I called up Brittany, my effervescent,
fun-hungry friend, and out we went to
binge drink, which for me meant three
or four, and for her meant a couple
more. We did take a cab. Planned
a return cab, too. Okay, maybe I knew
all that planning might lead to a little flirting.
But I did not predict the amazing
guy who would start flirting with me.
Brittany and I picked a favorite dance
club. Ear-hurting noisy, but we weren’t
looking for conversation. Lucky us
(or not, depending on how you look
at what happened later), the SDSU
crew team was there, drinking, too.
I went to the bar, ordered well tequila.
For some reason, the guy—Jaden—
standing next to me noticed. Have
you ever tried Trago? It’s brilliant.
I started to say something flip,
but then I turned to look at him.
Despite my certainty that no guy except
Cole could ever again make my pulse
pick up speed . . . I caught my breath.
“Trago? I bet it’s expensive, huh?”
Speaking of brilliant. His smile?
Totally. More expensive than Cuervo,
for sure. Would you like to try it?
He pointed to the full bottle on the top
shelf of the bar. Obviously, it was too
pricey for most of the clientele. My treat.
I should have smiled, thanked him,
and said no. Instead, I shrugged.
Next thing you know, I was drinking
shots of the best tequila I’d ever tasted—
with a gorgeous guy, so not my Cole.
He was a pretty good dancer, too.
THE THING ABOUT TEQUILA
Is it creeps up on you. Good tequila
is even sneakier. Especially when
you’re totally enjoying the company
of the guy who keeps pouring shots
for you. He bought the whole bottle.
Truthfully, I was grateful to spend
the evening with him. Brittany deserted
me early for some guy she hit it off with.
The last thing I wanted to do was sit
there, drinking alone, with increasingly
drunk guys hitting on me. Jaden,
of course, was hitting on me, too. But
at least he was respectful about it,
especially when the Trago loosened
my mouth and I started talking about
Cole. He was sympathetic. No
one in my family was ever drawn
to the military. Certainly, I would
never join up. I respect those who
do, but it must be really hard for you.
At some point, I started to feel
selfish—for wanting to talk to any
guy other than Cole, and for hoarding
this one, when I had no plans to do
more than talk. “I should probably go
and let you tempt some other girl
with the rest of this tequila.” I started
to stand, but he put his hand on
my arm. Stopped me with a simple:
Don’t go.
EVERY NOW AND THE
N
You run into a guy who actually
appreciates your IQ as much as
your bra size. Okay, often those
guys are gay. But not always.
Jaden and I connected in a very
special way. As friends. Turned out
he had regular fuck buddies. No
one I could get serious about.
No one as interesting as you.
I’m not sure what he found so
interesting. I didn’t feel special.
But I was glad that he thought
I was. Over the next month—May,
and heading into another summer
vacation for me and graduation
for Jaden—we hung out regularly.
Anyone seeing us together would
have thought we were a couple,
and other than the sex thing,
I suppose we were. Under other
circumstances, I would have fallen
totally in love with him and if I were
to be honest with myself, I’d have
had to admit complete infatuation.
What I wasn’t at all sure about
was if our budding relationship
was because of Cole or in spite
of him. When I stopped to worry
about that, guilt crashed into me.
I’d given Cole my word that I’d
never cheat on him. I wasn’t. Not
really. Was I? Was it okay to carve
my heart, give a tiny fraction to Jaden?
I knew Cole wouldn’t think so. But
I still hadn’t heard a single word.
If he really cared, couldn’t he find
a way to let me know he was alive,
he was whole, he was still in love
with me? Instinct told me he was fine.
Logic insisted the silence wasn’t
his fault. I had a pretty fair idea of how
things worked beyond the wire.
So what was up with me? It all came
down to hormone-rattled emotions,
confusion at my confusion. Love,
I thought, should be straightforward
commitment, unencumbered by private
doubt, internal debate. It should be static.
IT FELT ANYTHING BUT
As that summer rolled in,
hotter than usual. I decided
to stay in San Diego. In Lodi,
there would be questions.
About school.
Which was relatively good.
About my major.
Which I hadn’t changed yet.
About Darian.
Who I hadn’t seen in months.
About Cole.
Who . . . I couldn’t say.
Mostly, I wanted to surf.
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