At the center of campus, just in front of the granite barracks, stood a statue of George Washington, looking out over a green parade field known as the Plain. On the north side of the Plain, the superintendent’s whitewashed mansion sat next to the commandant’s home, a Tudor. Next to that was the massive redbrick mansion of the academic dean. Hovering behind the barracks, up a hill, was the towering Cadet Chapel, a reminder to Hannah that God was above it all. In another area of campus, there were tightly packed neighborhoods for junior faculty members, apartments for bachelor professors and TACs, short for “tactical officers.” Within West Point’s stone gates, a mini self-sufficient community existed solely to serve cadets.
The Bennetts lived in Lusk Area, a wooded neighborhood of high-ranking professors, comprising two-story redbrick homes, situated behind Lusk Reservoir and Michie Stadium. To Hannah, the homes looked like a string of paper dolls—each one a mirror image of the one that came before. American flags flew from each front stoop. Doorsteps displayed black and white placards indicating the name of the family who lived inside. COL. Carter’s Clan. Team Turner. The Bostwick Brood. Hannah’s parents sat in the front of the rental car, while she and Emily sat in the back, and when they pulled up to the right address, Hannah noticed the straightforward placard waiting in front of them. It simply read, The Bennetts.
Before they could unload their luggage from the car, the front door opened, and a petite woman with short brunette hair stepped outside. She wore dark jeans and a casual white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, like she’d been washing dishes just before they’d arrived. As for makeup, Wendy Bennett didn’t seem to wear much—mascara laced her lashes; a natural shade of mauve lipstick graced her lips. She smiled and waved.
“Come on in!” Wendy shouted. Her voice carried a slight Southern accent, the likes of which Hannah hadn’t expected to hear this far north of the Mason-Dixon Line. “Y’all must be exhausted.”
Wendy looked nothing like Martha Stewart, Hannah decided, but was a dead ringer for Sally Field, with the same bright eyes, high cheekbones, and easy smile that had made her America’s sweetheart. But as soon as Hannah crossed the threshold, she realized why Sarah had made the comparison.
The Bennetts’ house oozed comfort and gentility. Antiques graced every room, complemented by inviting upholstery. The house smelled like a cake was finishing in the oven, all sugar and butter and vanilla. Hannah caught herself breathing in the scent and feeling surprisingly at ease in this stranger’s house.
In a flash of hospitality, Wendy took drink orders, showed Hannah’s parents to a guest room, directed Hannah and Emily to another spare bedroom, and arranged three different kinds of cheese on a platter. Later, even Hannah’s father, Bill, seemed relaxed, sipping a beer and helping Colonel Bennett tend the grill. Breathing in the scent of charcoal and grass in the Bennetts’ well-manicured backyard, Hannah tried not to let her nerves about the following morning spoil her last night of summer. But every ten minutes, a wave of nausea crashed on her stomach, reminding her that the time was ticking away, bringing her closer to the end of one life and the beginning of another.
“How are you doing?” Wendy asked as Hannah refilled a glass of water at the sink. The cake was iced now, waiting to be cut. “Are you nervous?”
Hannah considered lying. She imagined shrugging her shoulders and pretending that everything was fine. But seeing the look of honest concern in Wendy’s eyes, she exhaled instead.
“Completely,” admitted Hannah. “I doubt I’ll sleep at all tonight.”
Wendy nodded, pursed her lips in a way that communicated deep understanding, then reached out and touched Hannah’s arm, as if they’d known each another for much longer than a few hours.
“I want you to know that if you need anything—and I mean anything—all you have to do is ask,” Wendy said. She grabbed a scrap piece of paper and wrote her phone number on it. “I know we just met. But I mean it.”
“Okay,” Hannah replied, receiving the paper from Wendy’s hand. She folded it, tucked it in her pocket. “Thanks.”
“Now,” Wendy said, clapping her hands together. “How about cake?”
WHEN THEY LEFT the Bennetts’ house the following morning, bellies full of homemade cinnamon rolls and strong coffee, the Speers walked across a stone bridge that traversed Lusk Reservoir and ended right at the entrance to Michie Stadium. Hannah shifted her black duffel bag on her shoulder, feeling the weight of everything she’d packed. It struck Hannah then that aside from bras and underwear, she hadn’t brought any clothes. Unlike other college students who arrived to school with bedding and lamps and decor to “liven up” a dorm room, candidates for West Point showed up with nothing but the clothes on their back and faith that all of their needs would be met.
Ignoring the sound of yelling already coming from the other side, Hannah led her family beyond the stadium’s stone facade, though its iron gates, and toward the beginning of the rest of her life.
4
Summer 2000 // West Point, New York
Dani lay prostrate on the ground, her finger wrapped around the trigger of an M16.
Movies make this look easy, she thought, feeling frustration crawl up her spine. Her elbows dug into the soft ground, along with a vertical pistol grip, creating a tripod for the weapon. She had to keep her knees, hips, and abs engaged to hold her body straight, low to the ground, and yet upright enough to see the target and shoot with accuracy. It was far harder than she’d anticipated. Any time she pulled the trigger, the kickback pummeled into her shoulder. She had bruises.
“Miss,” a voice said above her as the bullet whizzed past the target, wide by several inches. “It might help if you open your eyes, McNalley.”
“And it might help if you shut your mouth, Nesmith,” Dani replied.
She wiped her dirty hands against the legs of her green and brown combat uniform and let her platoon mate help her up. Eighteen, with dark hair buzzed completely to the scalp, Tim Nesmith had quickly become Dani’s favorite person in their platoon, and one of the few reasons she hadn’t quit. Had she been attracted to the all-American look, Dani might have had a crush on him. But she’d seen him pee in the woods more times than she could count, which meant that Tim had moved firmly into the friend zone. During breaks, Tim would lounge against the trunk of a tree, in the shade. He spent half the time sleeping; during the other half, he and Dani drilled one another on the inane definitions they’d been told to memorize out of a book called Bugle Notes.
“Definition of leather.”
Tim would pause before saying, “‘If the fresh skin of an animal, cleaned and’ . . . oh God . . .”
“‘Divested . . . ,’” Dani would hint.
“‘. . . divested of all hair, fat, and other . . . uh . . . extraneous matter . . . be immersed . . .’” Tim would groan, rolling over onto his stomach and pummeling the ground with his fist.
But if Tim was horrible at memorizing useless trivia, he more than made up for it with the kind of outdoorsy knowledge that was completely foreign to Dani. When orienteering, Tim naturally knew which direction was north. A week earlier, when their platoon had prepared to walk through a concrete bunker called the House of Tears, Tim had shown Dani how to tighten her gas mask.
“Don’t worry,” he’d whispered, ensuring that their platoon leader didn’t hear him talking. “It’s just tear gas.”
Just tear gas? Dani had looked at him like he had three heads. That was like saying the flu was just a virus.
Every person in the platoon had lined up with their hand on the shoulder of the person in front of them, like elephants linking trunks to tails. When Tim placed his hand on Dani’s shoulder, he’d squeezed it twice, as if to say, You’ve got this.
As soon as they were inside and told to remove their masks, a stinging sensation exploded into Dani’s nose and mouth and eyes, clawing at her insides. Water, mucus, and sweat poured out of every orifice imaginable, like the tear gas was somehow melting her face. No
t a second too soon, a door at the front of the room had opened, and the platoon had filed out quickly into the fresh air, all hacking and coughing and spitting into the grass.
“Wave your—cough—arms!” Tim had shouted at Dani, windmilling his arms through the air. She’d followed his instruction, mostly because she didn’t know what else to do, and soon, it seemed the motion had circulated fresh oxygen over her body. Snot covered her upper lip and tears ran down her cheeks, but surprisingly, she was laughing. They all were. This, she was learning, was what West Pointers called “type two” fun. It wasn’t fun while you were having it; it was fun later, when you could look back on it.
After they’d recovered, Dani asked Tim how he knew to circle his arms through the air. He’d just shrugged.
“Seemed like the right thing to do,” he’d said.
That was the way it was with Tim. Everything came naturally to him. He never seemed flustered with the training, and not once had Dani seen him lose his cool or bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from showing emotion. The insides of her cheeks, however, were a disintegrating mess of flesh. She’d chewed them so hard in the last three weeks, trying to hold her tongue, that she was afraid she’d have a hole in her cheek by the time Beast Barracks was over.
They switched positions, Dani holding the clipboard while Tim took the prone on the ground. He shot three times in quick succession and hit the target in a perfect isosceles triangle, right in the center.
“Show-off.” Dani took the weapon from him and went back to the ground, ignoring the growing pain in her lower back. It felt like her hip might snap out of its socket. But she knew better than to complain. Last week, the only other girl in Alpha Company had fallen out of a two-mile run with what she’d said was a sprained ankle. Soft in the face and around her middle, the girl looked genuinely in pain to Dani, but she’d watched as the men in her platoon rolled their eyes and groaned, as if she were faking the injury to slow them all down. The girl had quit three days later, packing up her gear and heading back to Arizona. Dani didn’t blame the girl for quitting any more than she’d blamed the guys for rolling their eyes. If you wanted to be comfortable, you shouldn’t have come to West Point. But now, the lone female in their platoon of twenty, Dani was highly aware that she was being watched. Any misstep, any wince, would confirm her status as the weak link.
The morning she’d reported to West Point, Dani’s body felt perfectly ready for any challenge, bolstered by a rush of adrenaline. Through the night, Dominic had punched her in the side, annoyed by her relentless tossing and turning. But Dani didn’t care. Dominic would be able to go back to sleep this afternoon. She, on the other hand, wouldn’t get much sleep for the next six weeks.
The McNalleys had left the hotel an hour later, Dani carrying a black duffel bag over her shoulder, stuffed with everything that had been on the short packing list. Sarah Goodrich had told her to pack extra bandages, blister pads, moleskin, anti-friction gel, and foot powder, saying they might come in handy. Dani had shivered imagining how her feet might look at the end of Cadet Basic Training, torn up, blistered, and bloodied. But thankfully, the moment she shivered with fear, a fresh rush of energy soared through her veins. She could feel the thrill in her neck, her fingers, her toes. Her abs tightened. It was amazing how the body could sense impending danger and release a chemical to help carry you through the fear. At times, the body was smarter than the mind.
Her hair slicked back into a dark bun, black Nike sneakers looking sharp against her mocha legs, Dani walked through the gates to the stadium.
As they found their way to an area overlooking the fifty-yard line, the McNalleys joined other white families, black families, an Asian family, and even a few families that weren’t speaking English. Most boys had preemptively shaved their heads, but several had grown their hair out long and bushy, knowing that at some point in the next few hours a barber would shear it off. Once they found their seats along the aluminum bleachers, Dani leaned forward and pressed her elbows into her knees. Everything in her body was on extreme alert—like she was about to run a marathon. Instead, she had to sit still and wait. On . . . what? An announcement? Someone to start yelling at her to do push-ups?
Just before the welcoming ceremony began, a tall blond woman had appeared beside Dani’s mother. She was beautiful, with a sharp chin, brilliant blue eyes, and a Southern accent as smooth as Dani had ever heard. Behind her, there were two blond girls that looked like twins and an older man with a graying mustache, wearing a burnt-orange University of Texas ball cap. The woman pointed at the aluminum bleachers and smiled.
“Can we slide in?”
“Of course!” Dani’s mother said. “Scoot down, Dani.”
“It’s so quiet,” the woman said to Dani’s mother as her family slid onto the row. “You’d think we’re at a funeral.”
Harper McNalley laughed out loud. “My funeral. Still can’t believe my baby is going to college. This college.”
“Is she your youngest?” the woman asked.
“No.” Dani’s mother pointed down the line to Dominic, who pushed his glasses up his nose. “Dominic will be a sophomore in high school this fall. Dani’s our oldest.”
“Oh, well then, you’ll still have one at home,” the woman said. “I’m about to have an empty nest.”
Soon, Harper and this woman were chatting like old friends. Dani sometimes hated the fact that her mother had never met a stranger. They could be standing in line at the grocery store, and before they’d checked out, Harper would have a list of prayer requests from the person in front of her and the one behind her. Dani, on the other hand, would have been content to stay quiet, waiting. It wasn’t like she would ever see these people again. Then again, she thought, there weren’t going to be that many other girls in the class of 2004.
Dani locked eyes with her new classmate, and together they rolled their eyes at their respective mothers. A beat passed as the two memorized each other’s faces. Without a doubt, she was a natural beauty: tall, with dirty-blond hair and dark blue eyes. Her face carried a carefree expression that would have filled the room with warmth, if they weren’t sitting outside. And most notably, she looked comfortable in her own skin, which seemed like a commendable feat of bravery to Dani, considering the faint sound of yelling coming from the other side of the stadium.
“We’re from Austin,” the girls’ mother said, answering Harper’s latest question. “I’m Lynn Speer. And that’s my husband down there with the mustache. Bill. Our daughter Emily, she goes to the University of Texas. And this is our daughter Hannah.”
The beautiful girl extended a long hand toward Dani. They shook and shared a sigh of anxiety.
“Do you play a sport?” Hannah’s mother asked. “Hannah’s here to play basketball.”
Dani’s eyebrows crunched together in shock. “Really? Me too.” What are the odds? She shifted forward excitedly on the bench. “What’s your position?”
“Post,” Hannah offered with a chuckle. “I actually thought I recognized you. Coach Jankovich sent me a newspaper article when you signed. You’re from Ohio, right?”
In the quiet moment that passed, all the plays they could run together moved through Dani’s mind. Hannah was so tall and Dani so short; there were a lot of ways they could maneuver around another team’s defense. They were going to be unstoppable! Dani was surprised to find that that little connection—that tiny, imperceptible moment of contact—had calmed her nerves. Though it was unspoken, Dani knew that she’d just made her first friend. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know much about this girl. They were going to be on the same basketball team, and that was enough.
“I need to get your phone number,” Harper McNalley said to Lynn Speer. “I have a feeling you and I might need a support group.”
She reached in her purse for a piece of paper and a pen, but before they could exchange information, a lone snare drum began to beat.
“Here we go,” said Dominic, pushing his glasses up his nos
e again. “The show begins.”
As a group of five cadets in uniform marched through a stadium tunnel and into the stands, the entire crowd went silent, listening to the sharp tap, tap, tap of their feet against the aluminum bleachers. All five cadets looked identical, stiff from the top of their hats to the bottom of their shoes. They wore starched white pants and crisp white overcoats, cinched at the waist by white belts with gold buckles. Suddenly, everyone in the stands seemed shabbily dressed by comparison. An officer in a navy uniform stepped forward to a microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen . . . friends and family. Welcome to the U.S. Military Academy at West Point.”
A collective sigh released from the crowd into the air as his voice echoed across the stadium, toward the reservoir. Then they all held their breath again.
“Today, you embark on the six-week journey known as Cadet Basic Training. CBT is rigorous and it is demanding. It will require every bit of personal fortitude, discipline, and determination you can muster. The people next to you—your family and friends—have helped you to get this far. But in just a few moments, you will say goodbye, and you will be going on alone.”
Someone sniffled. In her periphery, Dani saw Hannah’s father wipe his eyes. West Point’s first captain, a senior who held the highest rank in the Corps of Cadets, introduced the rest of the CBT leadership, called Cadre. There were a few more speeches. And then, the officer who had started it all walked back to the microphone.
“Parents, family, and friends, please prepare your final goodbyes. Candidates, you will be moving out in ninety seconds.”
The shock of that statement seemed to hit everyone in the audience at once. A beat passed and they stood up to exchange hugs and tears and goodbyes, grasping for the seconds even as they disappeared into the past.
Beyond the Point Page 5