Beyond the Point

by Claire Gibson

  No, Avery wanted to say. I’d rather not.

  “Where’s Mom?” Avery asked Caleb.

  “In the back. Sweet sleeve,” Caleb said, noticing Noah’s arm of tattoos. “How long did that take?”

  While Noah showed off his body art, Avery walked toward her parents’ bedroom, where she could hear the low hum of her mother’s hair dryer.

  It was strange to watch your parents age, Avery realized, inspecting her mother’s reflection in the master bathroom mirror. She finished drying her hair, then applied lotion to the sagging skin on her neck. In your twenties, time was measured in milestones: marriages, new jobs, promotions. But later, time marked itself with wrinkles, like scars. Her mother looked great for her age—her skin glowed and her hair was an enviable shade of gold—but something in her eyes betrayed a quiet sadness. Like she was embarrassed by what she saw in the mirror.

  “Mom.”

  “Oh, Avery!” Lonnie jumped. “You scared me!”

  They embraced tightly, rocking back and forth, before Lonnie pulled back and got a bright glint in her eye. “Is he here?”

  “Yes,” Avery answered, rolling her eyes. “Don’t make a big deal out of it, okay?” No questions about her job. Not even a question about the drive. Her mother had jumped straight to the one thing she cared about: Avery’s relationship status. “We’re taking it slow,” Avery added.

  “Well, it is a big deal.” Her mother fished a pair of pearl earrings from a jewelry dish on the bathroom counter and slipped them into her sagging lobes. “Meeting the family.”

  “Just be cool.”

  “I’m cool!” Lonnie said. “Oh, before I forget, something came in the mail for you.”

  Her mother led the way across the hall to Avery’s childhood bedroom, which Avery expected to have remained untouched, like the rest of the house. But when the door opened, rather than her pink-painted walls and queen-sized bed, she saw the room had been transformed into a home office, complete with a large desktop computer and a rolling ergonomic chair. Gone were her AAU basketball trophies and the bouquets of dried flowers, hung upside down on the wall like trophies of their own—artifacts of relationships long past.

  Avery’s mind tried to quickly catch up to what her eyes were seeing. Everything of hers had been removed. A stack of cardboard boxes waited in the corner, with her name written on them in Sharpie marker.

  “What happened to my room?”

  Her mother looked amused by Avery’s surprise. “You’ve been gone for six years, Ave. I needed an office.”

  “For what?” Avery said cruelly. Her mother didn’t work. “And what about Blake’s room?”

  Her mother’s face stiffened. “Blake still comes home, believe it or not.” She walked to the desk, picked up a white envelope, and handed it to Avery. “It’s from West Point. I didn’t know if it was important. You’d think they’d have your current address.”

  Lonnie walked out the door toward the kitchen, muttering something about checking on the pot roast. When they entered the kitchen, Avery mindlessly ran a finger under the envelope’s sealed flap. While Noah traded workouts with Blake, a single sheet of paper unfolded in Avery’s hands.

  Our records show that you were listed as a plaintiff in the Department of Defense Case #03–2754, Department of the Army vs. Jonathan T. Collins.

  Avery closed the letter quickly. The warmth disappeared from her face.

  “What was it?” her mother asked from the other side of the kitchen.

  “They’re just, uh, asking for an alumni donation.”

  “God. As if you haven’t given that place enough already.” She pulled the pot roast out of the oven, its juices oozing into the bottom of the pan. “Who’s ready for dinner?”

  “Oh, we’re . . .” Noah looked to Avery. “You didn’t tell her?”

  After slipping the envelope in her purse, Avery furrowed her brow, unsure of what Noah meant, until she realized the hunk of meat steaming in the dish didn’t fall within Noah’s restrictive vegetarian standards. “Right. Sorry, Mom. He’s . . . Actually, we’re both vegetarians.”

  Avery faked a smile to Noah, ignored the silent derision in her father’s eyes, and then helped set the table. But as a bowl of salad passed from one set of hands to the next, Avery filled her plate, without a second glance toward the main dish. Somehow the news delivered in that thin envelope had ruined her appetite.

  THAT NIGHT, IN Blake’s childhood bedroom, Avery couldn’t sleep. Noah was in the living room, on the pullout couch. She’d tried to convince him that her parents wouldn’t notice if he slipped into her bed after they’d all gone to sleep, but he’d refused.

  “It’s one night,” he’d said. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Then he’d pointed her down the hall.

  Flipping on a light, Avery reached for her purse, dug out the envelope, then buried herself under the covers, holding it between her hands. Back then, Dani had been so certain that going to the authorities was the right thing to do. But she didn’t know what it was going to cost.

  None of them did.

  They’d traversed campus in silence, until they stood inside the Criminal Investigation Command office, staring at a man behind a reception desk, whose eyes bulged when they explained why they were there. He’d moved them to a windowless office, offered water. The investigator, a short woman in her midforties, had thanked them for coming forward and had started with simple questions. Dani had turned over the photos. Hannah had made a statement about what she’d seen the year before: Collins, coming out of the girls’ locker room, with a thin excuse and a guilty look in his eyes. After Avery admitted that it was her body in the photos, she’d answered the investigator’s questions honestly and directly, encouraged by the presence of Dani on her left and Hannah on her right.

  “We’re going to need more evidence to pursue charges. We’ll use your statements to get a warrant to search his room.”

  Avery had turned her eyes pleadingly to Hannah. The truth was, if John Collins was arrested out of the blue, people would want to know who’d turned him in. Locke was trustworthy enough, but Avery knew how rumors at West Point worked.

  “Is there any way to do this without relying on our statements?” Hannah had asked. “At least for now?”

  The female detective had exhaled heavily. “It’s hard to protect victims and witnesses on college campuses,” she said. “Rumors spread so fast. A story like this is hard to contain.”

  “His computer,” Dani announced suddenly. “Cadet computers are government property, right? And the academy does sweeps every six months or so to check for viruses and porn and whatever. Can’t you do a sweep? I mean, get the warrant. But search everyone. That way, it can seem random.”

  The detective had exchanged a glance with her colleague, who looked simultaneously annoyed and impressed by Dani’s suggestion.

  “It’s not a bad idea.”

  The detective had nodded, then looked back at Avery.

  “This kid. This . . . Collins. It seems like the risk of getting caught was part of the thrill for him. We can charge him with criminal trespassing. Criminal video voyeurism. Distribution of pornography. Misuse of government property. Maybe more. He could go away for a long time. But, Miss Adams, since the majority of these photos are of you, you’ll still have to be the one to press charges in the end.”

  She’d paused, rubbed her forehead.

  “It’ll take at least twenty-four hours to do the sweep. And for this to work, the three of you have to stay silent. You can’t tell anyone that you came here tonight.”

  Avery breathed a sigh of relief and looked to Hannah and Dani as if to check that this was the right plan. Dani nodded.

  “So that’s a yes?” the detective asked. “As you can imagine, I haven’t had great success with nineteen-year-olds keeping secrets.”

  Dani spoke with certainty. “We’re not your normal nineteen-year-olds, ma’am. We’re like a cult. You can be certain, nothing will leave this room.”


  Now, staring at the letter in her hands, Avery’s eyes began to water. So much time had passed since that moment, and yet, she still felt the same sickness in her stomach that she’d had forty-eight hours later, when military police had escorted John Collins out of the barracks in handcuffs. The Corps of Cadets had turned into a cacophony of gossip as the students guessed at the cause of his arrest. No one understood why someone so close to graduation would be taken away. They’d grasped at straws, wondering who had turned him in—was it a member of the football team who’d seen the photos, or the girl—who was that girl?—on display in them?

  Putting those memories out of her mind, Avery unfolded the letter and read it quickly, as if the faster she read, the sooner it could all be behind her again.

  March 15, 2006

  Dear Ms. Adams,

  Our records show that you were listed as a plaintiff in the Department of Defense Case #03–2754, Department of the Army vs. Jonathan T. Collins.

  On behalf of the Department of Defense and the Criminal Investigation Command of West Point, it is our responsibility to inform you that the defendant in this case is to be released on parole on March 17, 2006. A restraining order remains in place and the defendant will be listed on the National Sex Offender Public Registry for the remainder of his probationary period, which ends on 05–13–2015.

  We have included in this letter a one-page copy of the summary case record. We apologize for any disturbance this may cause and are available to address any concerns you may have about your case.

  Respectfully,

  Capt. Peter Irving

  Judge Advocate General Corps

  Criminal Investigation Command, West Point, New York

  On Sunday, Avery pretended to sleep as Noah navigated south. He’d won over Avery’s parents and brothers far more quickly than she’d anticipated. He’d complimented her mother’s cooking, helped with the dishes, and even put the foldout couch back together before they’d left that morning.

  “I think this one might be a keeper,” her mother had said before they’d hit the road that morning. Avery wanted to believe that was true. But something about receiving notice that John Collins was out in the world again, free to live and do as he pleased, had set Avery’s instincts on high alert. Suddenly, all of the old red flags she’d ignored were flapping wildly again.

  “What?” Noah said. Avery had pulled her head off the pillow against the passenger window to look at him.

  “Can I ask you something?” she asked.

  “Shoot.”

  “Why were you so weird about your phone the other day?”

  He reached for his pack of cigarettes. “What are you talking about?”

  Wrapping the pillow in her arms, Avery looked to the side mirror, where she saw her reflection. Her blond hair had grown long, past her shoulders. Eating like Noah, as a vegetarian, meant she’d resorted to eating a lot of pasta, which had made her face puffy and bloated. She didn’t feel like herself. But she couldn’t blame her irritability on her diet or the man sitting next to her.

  “I feel like something has been up with you this whole weekend,” Noah said, deftly turning the conversation back to Avery. She didn’t force him to answer the question he’d avoided. Instead, she sighed.

  “You know that letter I got from West Point?”

  He nodded.

  “It wasn’t about making a donation.”

  “What was it?” he asked.

  And then she told him everything. When she was finished, she held her breath, waiting for Noah to say something to soothe the gaping emotional wound she’d just undressed before his eyes. Vulnerability can bring two people closer together, or it can expose a distance that can’t be overcome. Avery closed her eyes and waited for him to speak.

  “Well,” Noah said with a smirk. “Can I see the pictures?”

  Avery felt herself shrink, like she was Alice in Wonderland. Falling down that rabbit hole. Swallowing that pill. Suddenly, she was three inches tall.

  He reached for her hand. She pulled it away.

  “Oh come on. I’m only kidding,” he said. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I don’t know,” Avery replied. “But not that.”

  21

  Summer 2006 // Jekyll Island, Georgia

  In the middle of her war, Hannah flew home for two weeks of paid leave. It was strange really, the thought that she could fly out of the Middle East, while her men and her mission stayed put. Rest and recuperation, better known as R & R, was a benefit that every soldier and officer received when they were deployed. Two weeks to regroup and be with your family, followed by several more months overseas, finishing the deployment. It was an odd pause. A whiplash of change, from one part of the world to another. From fear to safety and back again.

  It was the middle of August. And thankfully, this year, there were no hurricanes on the horizon. After picking Hannah up from the airport in Savannah, Georgia, Tim drove her to Jekyll Island, where he’d rented a place for them to pass the time.

  The cottage smelled as though salt water had seeped into the clapboard siding, giving the entire place the odd feeling that it had been built by the tides themselves. Canopied by gnarled oak trees, the white bungalow was perched at the tip of a peninsula, where a creek ended and the ocean began. A dock jutted into the creek, outfitted with kayaks, fishing rods, and a hammock. There was another hammock on the front porch, and a third out by the wooden steps that led to the beach. Humidity wafted through the air and snuck through the cracks in the old windows, but they hadn’t let the heat defeat their plans. Summer in south Georgia had nothing on Afghanistan. Here, even 100 percent humidity felt like a reprieve to Hannah. They had two weeks alone together, with no plans, nowhere to be—just the two of them and the ocean.

  It felt like a dream world. Every morning when they woke up, Hannah would hold his face in her hands and say, “Can you believe it? We don’t have to say goodbye!”

  They’d start the day with coffee, watching the sun rise over the ocean, and end the day with wine, watching it set into the marsh.

  On their seventh morning together, Hannah lay in bed beside her husband, in no rush to start the day. When they’d first arrived at the house, she’d felt nervous to undress, aware that he hadn’t seen her naked in months. Would he still like what he saw? But that initial hesitation was immediately replaced by an overwhelming sense of urgency and desire. They only had fourteen days. There was no time for modesty.

  The clock on the bedside table read 4:58 A.M., but Hannah knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. Instead, she admired Tim’s chest, rising and falling with each breath. His hair had grown back since Ranger School and was dark on the white pillow. The tattoo of an Irish cross on the inside of his left bicep had faded slightly, as tattoos do. Hannah wanted to wake him—to shake him until he opened those bright hazel eyes and looked at her with that same sense of childish adventure she’d grown to love. But he looked too peaceful to disturb.

  Hannah ran a finger along the jagged scar on his right shoulder. Unlike the tattoo, it hadn’t yet faded.

  The accident had happened about this time, four years ago. During the season-opening football game their junior year, Hannah had stood in the stands with the rest of the Corps of Cadets staring at the sky. The crowd had erupted in shouts as six tiny black specks emerged into view, and all of a sudden, all six parachutes spread out like small yellow blooms over their heads. Hannah scanned the sky for Tim. After what he’d done that summer during Air Assault training, they weren’t speaking. But she still loved to watch him fly. She saw the red and white stripes of the American flag waving behind him and breathed a sigh of relief.

  What happened next would forever remain in Hannah’s memory. A strap snapped off his shoulder, sending the yellow parachute vertical. He spun out of control, falling like a bird shot out of the sky. The entire crowd gasped and Hannah went silent, covering her mouth with her hands.

  When she’d arrived at the hospital, Hannah im
mediately knew that she was no longer angry. Tim had been propped up in a bed, his right arm and shoulder stabilized in a metal contraption that looked like a vise. When he noticed her in the doorway, Tim shook his head, his chin quivering and face reddening with emotion.

  “I didn’t think you’d come,” he said. “I’m so sorry . . . I—”

  “Shh.” Hannah had placed a hand on his uninjured arm, squeezing it tight. “I forgive you.”

  He’d started laughing through his tears. “When I was hanging in that tree, all I could think of was how mad I would have been if I had died and we hadn’t made up. We have to make up. I still love you.”

  Hannah had laughed through her tears, too. Six months later, they were engaged.

  Tim’s accident hadn’t just resurrected their relationship. It also resurrected his belief in God. Even the doctors couldn’t understand how he hadn’t died, simply from the height of the fall. Had he not been scarred, Hannah wondered if she would even be sitting here, in his bed, married. So she loved his scar. It symbolized everything that had brought them back together. And even though Tim wasn’t perfect—he was flawed and cocky and at times a bit too charming for his own good—Hannah knew he was perfect for her.

  Slipping from the sheets, Hannah grabbed her copy of East of Eden from the bedside table and stepped outside onto the porch, where she could watch the sun rise over the Atlantic. Two months earlier, on Hannah and Tim’s second wedding anniversary, Dani had sent her a sweet e-mail, full of memories and photos of their wedding day. Even her sister, Emily, remembered the anniversary—sending Hannah a bouquet of flowers all the way to FOB Sharana in Afghanistan. But not Avery. That girl had fallen off the face of the planet.

  Hannah only heard from her in group e-mails that Dani addressed to all of them, and even then, Avery’s responses were shallow and short. Hannah couldn’t understand how you could be so close with someone for so long only to let the friendship fade. After everything they’d been through, Hannah had been certain that Dani and Avery would be her best friends until they were old and gray. But things had changed. She was married now. Maybe her best friend wasn’t supposed to be a girl from her college basketball team—maybe her best friend was supposed to be the man still sleeping in the other room.