Collateral (19 page)

you show it to your teacher?

“To get a second opinion. Also,

to gain a little sympathy. I missed

his class yesterday, and I'll miss

it Monday, too. You're not mad

because I used you to buy some

goodwill? Anyway, don't let it

go to your head. Chaucer, I'm sure,

would not agree with the rest of us.”

Cole still looks embarrassed,

but at least he's smiling. Then

he asks,
Which poem?
When

I tell him, he nods.
Good one.

“They all are, Cole. Take it from me,

you've got talent. We've studied a lot

of poets. Some great. Some not so. In

my humble opinion, you could be great.”

It's close to one when we finally

emerge from the hotel. Famished,

but only for food. “I'm starving.

Where should we go for lunch?”

Leave it to me. I've got it all

planned. Come on.
I follow him

a few blocks, to where he has parked

a rusting Jeep borrowed from

his buddy, Brian.
He was going

to use it today, but when I told him

what I needed it for . . .
He shrugs.

We've got each other's backs.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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