I’d been reading one just before supper was served, but I didn’t get to finish it.
The attack came at sunset just as the villagers were preparing their meals, and the charity’s team were in the main hall. A bell rang in the yard, the loud clanging putting speed in our hurried steps. I always carried a pistol in a holster at my belt, but I was going to need more fire power than that.
In a move that we’d practiced during the days and weeks before, the women and children slid under the tables with the two cooks standing guard. The rest of us raced to the arsenal where we kept the semiautomatic weapons. For a small charity, we had a lot of them, thank God.
I grabbed my favorite, and old 50 caliber sniper rifle and took up position between the water tower and perimeter gate.
A cloud of dust barreled toward us and I could make out four jeeps, probably between 20 and 30 ISIS fighters.
We had more men than they did, but they weren’t trained fighters. Wes and I had done our best in the short space of time we’d had, but I was under no illusions.
I aimed at the chest of the first driver, feeling a grim satisfaction when the windshield exploded and the Jeep veered off. I’d gotten the second driver before the other two split up and raced around the back of the compound.
I prayed Wes’s men could handle that sector because we had nine or ten heavily armed men storming the gate.
Taking a risk, I climbed the water tower to get better vision, but knowing I’d be seen—and a target.
Automatic fire chattered out from behind me, and the ISIS fighters ahead were ramming the gate with one of the Jeeps. I fired down and got two more of them before they reversed at speed. I ducked when a barrage of shots screamed over my head, sending splinters flying in all directions.
The attack broke as quickly as it had started, and the fighters piled into their vehicles and sped away, leaving only spirals of dust and a few bullet holes behind them.
Adrenaline was still surging through my body when Wes found me.
“Casualties?” I croaked.
“Only my pride,” he said, a smile spreading across his dirt stained face. “Got knocked on my ass by one of our guys running to get his weapon. How you doin’, buddy?”
I shook my head and grinned at him. “Getting to old for this shit, brother,” and we both laughed.
We laughed because we’d survived another one.
Guess God loved us.
During the months since I’d left San Diego, this was Wes’s third trip out here, but it was time for him to go back home again where he had a wife and kids who needed him. I envied him. It was the kind of envy that slices through a man. I wanted what he had. I wanted it bad. But it wasn’t mine to have.
“Want me to send a message to anyone back in SD?” he asked carefully.
I shook my head. “Nope. No messages.”
Although Blue’s weren’t the only letters I received while I was there. One day, a few weeks after Wes had left, a letter arrived with a San Diego postmark, but it wasn’t from Blue and I didn’t recognize the writing.
I was surprised to find that the letter was from Joan Ramirez, the woman whose father, Ozzie, had been at My Lai. I’d never forgotten that night—and neither had she.
Dear Father Gabriel,
I hope this letter finds you well. Father Neil told me where to write you, I hope you don’t mind.
I was real sorry to hear about what happened to you and that I don’t believe everything they said about you. I wanted to tell you that I went to see Bishop Quincy. I needed to tell him how great you were with my dad. It meant so much to the whole family that he reached out to you and that you were able to give him peace in his dying hours before he met Our Lord. It would have broken my heart if he hadn’t made his peace with the Church and God, or if he hadn’t received the Last Rites. You did that for him, Father. You did that for my family. He wouldn’t have talked with anyone else. You were amazing and I can never thank you enough for saving his immortal soul, and I sincerely believe that’s what you did.
I know that you’d gotten in a lot of trouble before you left San Diego, but I wanted to say this: you’re a man, only a man, and if Jesus teaches us anything it’s that no one is perfect, not even a priest. You have a gift for healing, Father, spiritual healing—I really believe that—and I’d hate for you to give up that part of your life.
You are in my prayers, Father, and always will be.
Bless you.
Sincerely,
Joan Ramirez
I read the letter slowly, my fractured heart feeling lighter with every word. I hadn’t fucked up everything, I had done some good.
I folded the letter away and placed it with Blue’s. This was precious to me, too.
Chapter Forty-Two
Mariana
Hi Gabriel,
Still no word from you—guess you’re still mad at me for ruining your life. I don’t blame you. You were only ever kind to me and I wanted to ruin you. I’m sorry I did.
I found out from Mrs. O’Cee more about this place you’re working at. She found out from Father Neil, and he knows because he’s met your friend Wesley. See? I have great research skills! Yeah, I know, I just asked Mrs. O’Cee—she knows everything! Did she ever work for the CIA?
So this guy was your friend in the SEALs, so I guess he knew my dad, too. It feels strange sometimes that you all knew him and I never met him, but that’s life, right?
And now this dude has made a ton of money and found God. I guess that’s kind of ironic. I’m sorry, I’m not mocking, I promise. But it seems so unfair—he has so much, but they’ve taken everything away from you—your home, your job, even being a priest. And I know I’m to blame. I’m sorry, Gabriel. More sorry than you’ll ever know.
Oh, Lolly says hi. She just tried to walk over my laptop, so I think that counts as hello.
Don’t laugh, but I’ve been studying the Bible. Oh, don’t worry, I’m never gonna be a nun or nothing like that, but I’ve been taking some college classes. I’ve had to be street smart forever, but it turns out I have school smarts, too. And there are scholarships for ‘hardship cases’ like me. So this one class is Comparative Religion. Unfortunately, the teacher isn’t a hot priest (too soon to joke about that?), but he said that the idea of forgiveness is in all the major religions. I guess that’s because humans are so good at fucking things up. Like me.
But I don’t want to be that person anymore, so I’m trying to change. And I don’t think I want to be Blue anymore. She’s a girl who was born on the streets, lived hard and would have died young. I don’t want that for me. I want to live, I want to do more than survive. I want to find a life for myself. I want to be more. I’m not sure what that will be yet, but I’m trying to figure things out. Will you help me, Gabriel, one more time? Will you help me figure out the rest of my life? Because I want to be with you. I want it so badly. I dream at night that we’re together. But then I wake up and you’re not here and I die a little inside. Do you want to be with me in all the ways that a man can be with a woman? I hope so. I pray you want that, too. Do you believe that God brought us together for a reason? Because I don’t believe it was just to be so cruel that he let us fall in love then tore us apart. I believe we’re meant to be together. But what do you believe?
Mariana (Blue)
He never replied. But I didn’t give up hope. If he didn’t want me, he’d have to tell me himself, in person. Father Michael told me that Gabriel had gotten in touch with him again and mentioned reading my letters but he wouldn’t tell me what else he said. I was jealous that Gabriel would write Father Michael but not me. But I could wait. Just knowing that he was reading what I wrote kept me going through the long Spring semester and through to the summer break.
One day, I was feeling really low, so I took Gabriel’s car and drove out along the 101. He’d told me once that he came up here sometimes. I’d also found out that his buddy who’d set him up in Mali was the multi-millionaire Wesley Kingston. I was a
ngry for a while when I found that out. Three friends, three Navy SEALs: one dead, one exiled, one living in the lap of luxury. I wanted to see this dude for myself, so I drove out there to wallow in how fucked up everything was. I was pissed enough that I’d have keyed his car if I could.
I parked near the gate to their mansion and watched him and his family drive up in their expensive SUV. And I watched while they drove through the enormous electric gates. And I watched while he parked the car and I watched as his beautiful wife unbuckled two cute little kids from their car seats and unstrapped the baby from the back. I watched as she kissed the baby’s head, and I watched as her SEAL husband kissed her like he worshipped the ground she walked on. And I wanted to puke. They had everything. And I don’t mean the money and the flashy car and the big house—they had love like I’d never known, because their love was safe and comfortable and certain. I had nothing.
Gabriel was far away and lost to me. All I had were the letters that I wrote; the letters he never replied to.
I didn’t even get to key their car.
I took three classes during summer school and worked my ass off. I was on a fast track to get my degree in two years—because that was when Gabriel would be home—I hoped.
Gabriel, you’re so stubborn! I didn’t know that about you, but since Father Michael said he’d gotten a letter from you I know that you’re getting mail. And if you think telling him to tell me to stop writing would work, you’re an idiot. But it doesn’t matter because even if you write to tell me not to write, I still would, because I’m stubborn as Hell, too.
Don’t freak out, but I saw my mom today. I’d gotten word that she was in prison. I bumped into someone from my old ‘hood in Target, of all places, and she told me that Mom had gotten four years in a state prison for battery—some john that she beat up and rolled.
Anyway, she’s been in for five months, and although she’s never going to win mother of the year, she was clean for the first time in forever and we could actually talk. She admitted she’d been a shitty mom—no argument from me—and she said she’d try and stay straight when she got back on the outside. She denied ‘selling’ me to Cornelius and I wouldn’t put it past that evil shit to have lied about it, but then again, Mom was so out of things, she might have done it. But … I can’t keep living in the past, right? The dude’s dead, I’ve got to let it go. And I can’t keep blaming other people for the choices I make—something I learned from you, by the way.
Anyway, I said I’d help her. I don’t rate her chances are great because her health is bad from years of drugs and I don’t think she’s strong enough to stay clean. There’s a lot of drugs in prison. Well, I guess we’ll see what happens.
I saw Father Neil today. He misses you, too, and he said to tell you that he was praying for you. I’d gone to visit with Mrs. O’Connor and he happened to be there. (I never visit when Father Miguel Angel is there because he hates my guts, even though he’s supposed to forgive me, right? Don’t worry, it’s mutual. But maybe he hates me because I haven’t repented as much as he’d want—or at all. I’m not sure he’d forgive me if I became a Mother Superior or sang all the songs from ‘The Sound of Music’ or Sister Act’, although I think Father Neil likes show tunes.)
Mrs. O’Cee says she’s retiring at last. I think I aged her, but you know she’ll forgive me anything—and you. She said she’s going to start knitting baby clothes for when you come home and knock me up LOL. Not right away, I hope, because I want to finish school first. I’m doing double classes because a) I’m super smart—who knew? And b) that way I can get my degree in two years—ready for when you’re back. Please don’t tell me you’ll be away longer than that. Father Michael mentioned two years, so that’s what I’m keeping in my heart. It’s hard taking all those classes and working the graveyard shift at the diner, but probably not harder than for you, and I’m coping okay. I still haven’t gotten a penny from the Navy but I’m working on it. I don’t need much money after I’ve made the rent and bought food and shit. It’s not like I’m dating or anything LOL, so I have the time to study, sleep and work—that’s it. I’m waiting for you, Gabriel, and when you’re back, our lives can start again. I’ll keep writing. At least I know you’re reading them!!
Okay, this is going to be a bit weird, but I’ve been wanting to ask you for a while now … I know you used to party when you were a SEAL, after all, you and Dad met my mom in that bar, so why did you think you could give up all that, sex and women, I mean? Why didn’t it bother you? And … why me?
I read something in the Bible, yeah, I know, right? But I want to understand what it means to you. I’m trying, I really am. Anyway, I remembered that you quoted once from the ‘Songs of Solomon’, so I looked it up and I found this:
“Upon my bed at night I sought him whom my soul loves; I sought him, but found him not; I called him, but he gave no answer. ‘I will rise now and go about the city, in the streets and in the squares; I will seek him whom my soul loves’.”
And I get it. I do. Please write.
Mariana
I started my second year of school by transferring to UCSD and by winning another scholarship, I was able to cut back my hours at the diner a little. The Navy still weren’t playing ball.
Mrs. O’Cee officially retired from being housekeeper at the rectory. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d gotten a nun to do the housekeeping instead. I’m not even kidding.
Hi Gabriel,
It was Mrs. O’Connor’s retirement party today.
Her replacement is a Mexican widow in her sixties, named Mrs. Aguado with seven grandchildren of her own already. I was invited to the farewell party and I thought long and hard about going because I knew I’d see a lot of people who hated me, not least Father Miguel Angel. But Mrs. O’Cee has become kind of like a surrogate grandmother, even though she has plenty of real grandkids, but I admit that I love that old lady. See? It’s getting easier for me to say stuff like that now. But as I didn’t want to spoil her party, I dropped by for ten minutes at the end, just as most people were leaving. I gave her an antique book of traditional Irish prayers that were written in Irish and translated into English, and with really beautiful illustrations.
We both had tears in our eyes and she said she’d pray for me. I promised to stay in touch.
Father Miguel Angel ignored me, but Father Neil gave me a big hug and told me to tell you (again) that he’s praying for you. But he’s praying for me, too, so I think that’s pretty nice.
Are you ever going to write me?
Mariana
The long, echoing silence continued and maybe if I hadn’t had Father Michael to talk to, I might have given up, but every time he saw me, he told me, “never give up on hope.” So I didn’t.
A heart can only hold so much sorrow before it stops beating.
It was a new year and another letter.
Dear Gabriel,
It’s my 21st birthday today, that’s why you’re getting an extra letter from me. But I suddenly realized that if I’m 21, then you must be 40 soon, or maybe you are already. I can’t believe that I don’t know your birthday! I hope you haven’t had it yet because I’d really like to send you something. (Maybe writing paper HINT HINT!), or how about a ticket to San Diego? Joking!! (Not.)
I didn’t do anything special during the day, just classes as usual. But then I drove to Fort Rosecrans Cemetery (no, I didn’t steal a car—I have one of my own, taxed and everything—some beater that I was given, you might know the guy who gave it to me). Although I had to take my Driver’s Test first. I guess I never told you I didn’t have a license. I love your cranky old Chevy and it gets me from home to school and work, so that’s okay. Anyways, I talked to Dad and the sun came out and it felt like he was replying, you know? He’d probably need to kick your ass for sleeping with me, but I think he’d be okay with it in the end, especially when he sees that we’re serious about each other. So Happy Birthday to me, and as I don’t know when your birthday is
/was, Happy Birthday to you, Gabriel.
Mariana
And then, nothing.
I was too butt-headed to give up. Month after month, I wrote my letters which were more like a diary than correspondence, but they were all to the man who filled my thoughts.
And then, one day, I got an email from Father Michael that made the world tilt again.
This time, my letter to Gabriel was very different.
Dear Gabriel,
This is my last letter. Father M tells me you’ll be home three weeks on Thursday—don’t blame him, he really wanted me to know so I didn’t have to twist his arm very hard, although I admit I’ve been nagging him for news on a regular basis. I think he has a soft spot for me after all.
I spent so many years hating you and wanting to kill you. That’s how much hate I had in my heart. But not anymore.
I’ll be there waiting for you, Gabriel. I’ll always wait for you, because I love you. ‘But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.’
Your Mariana
Chapter Forty-Three
Gabriel
I reread Mariana’s latest letter. I had just about memorized the others. When I’d received the first one, it took me two days to open it. I was afraid. Afraid of what she might say; afraid of what I might read. Finally, I found my balls and tore open the envelope. The relief was physical, as if I’d been carrying an impossibly heavy load and someone told me I could put it down. I felt ten feet tall and twenty years younger; I felt excited and guilty; I felt elated and miserable.
She wasn’t supposed to wait for me. This was supposed to be tough love—cold turkey for both of us; a complete Blue de-tox. But how do you tear out your own heart and still expect it to keep beating? I wanted so much to write her back, but I just couldn’t. I was doing this for her, damn it!
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