Collateral (22 page)

then is that all those silent weeks,

he was off on voluntary patrols with

the sniper platoon and had impressed

the right people. Just how remains

a mystery. I keep tiptoeing around

asking for details. Maybe one day

I'll find the courage. Maybe it's better

not to know. They say U.S. Marine

scout-snipers are the cream, and I

don't doubt it at all. I've seen videos

documenting what Cole went through

in his eight and a half weeks of training.

It's intense. Those soldiers must be in

top physical condition. More even than

that, they have to be prepared mentally

to run miles, swim with heavy weights,

crawl through smelly, slimy muck, then

get to their feet, run some more, drop

to their bellies, sight in and hit targets

spot-on at awe-inspiring distances.

Attrition is something like sixty percent.

Cole, of course, made the cut and

became a member of an elite squad

of single-shot kill marksmen. Woot.

Until after his training was complete.

I was okay with that. I'd just started

my senior year and wanted to focus

on my classes without distraction.

Plus, I was still shaken over the idea

that Jaden had made me question

my relationship with Cole. Was it pure

loneliness, or did I have some moral

defect I'd never realized existed before?

I was afraid if I saw Cole too soon,

the guilt in my eyes would give me away.

After several weeks, it did start to fade.

So I was happy enough to find out

that Cole was taking leave to help

celebrate my twenty-third birthday.

Not only that, but Spence was coming

home, too. He, Darian, Cole, and I

would be together for the first time

in almost three years. It was a reunion

we'd talked about and hoped for,

but only coincidence could make it

actually happen. Darian and I worked

hard to plan something special—

an overnight trip to Disneyland.

Neither of us had visited since we

were teens. Cole and Spence were

Disney virgins. It sounded like fun.

A real celebration, reminding us

that we were still young. The problem

was, despite our relatively youthful ages,

in too many ways, we were no longer

young. Cole had just graduated

from a school that taught him to be

a better—no, the best—killer. Spence

had recently seen three of his buddies

wiped out by a suicide bomber. Oh,

and he should have been right there

with them in the same vehicle, but

for a providential case of dysentery.

Survivor's guilt adds figurative years.

As for Dar and me, well, we still

believed in our youth. But face it, forever

commitment—whether sanctioned by

a license or not—when you've barely

entered your third decade of life

makes you older than your friends

who are still out there playing the field.

It's play that keeps you young.

Is what we had in mind.

It sort of started out that way.

I asked my Mom for mad money

to book a room on property.

“That's all I want for my birthday,”

I told her. She seemed to understand,

although I found out later

she also added funds to my

savings account. Moms. You have

to love them, or at least appreciate

how they care for you covertly, despite

your pulling away. Overtly, she sent

enough for adjoining rooms

at the Grand Californian Hotel,

a spectacular resort adjacent California

Adventure. Disneyland, Phase Two.

Sometimes my birthday abuts

the busy Thanksgiving weekend.

This was one of those years, so it

took some planning to make it happen.

Cole flew directly into Orange County.

I maneuvered the obnoxious freeways

alone, picked him up at the airport,

and we checked in late Saturday

afternoon. Dar and Spence drove

up together. The plan was to meet

for dinner, enjoy the evening,

then do the parks the following day,

when hopefully most of the crowds

would be on their way home.

To seeing Spencer again. My first

thought, when I spotted him and Dar,

waiting at the restaurant entrance

was, “Is he sick or something?”

I saw no sign of Spence's signature

swagger. In its place was . . . I don't

know. Caution, I guess. Where once

he held Darian with downright prideful

possessiveness, that evening,

the way his arm rested around

her shoulder seemed needful, like

if he let go, his knees might buckle.

Cole took a good, long look at Spence.

I haven't talked to him in a while,

he commented.
But he does look

a little unenthusiastic, doesn't he?

“Maybe he's just scared of giant

Mickey Mouses? Or would that be

Mickey Mice?” We both snickered

at my stupid joke, but straightened

up before Spence noticed our

inappropriate laughter. I didn't think

he'd appreciate our acting all concerned,

either, so I found just the right kind

of smile and offered him a long,

affectionate hug, which he returned.

“God, it's great to see you. How have

you been?” Innocent enough.

Spence pulled back.
Ah, you know,

I've been better. But being home

for a while is bound to help. I missed

my girl.
He leaned over and kissed Dar.

She kissed back enthusiastically,

but when she glanced over at me,

her eyes held apprehension.

The hostess came to seat us for our

seven p.m. reservation. And, even

though we had just come from upstairs,

the first thing I did was excuse myself

to use the ladies' room, hoping Darian

would follow. She did. I went straight

to the sink to wash my hands. Dar did

the same. I looked at her in the mirror.

“What's up with Spence? Is he okay?”

She shook her head.
I'm not really

sure. He's had a weird cough since

he's been back. Says it's walking

pneumonia. Whatever it is, he's not

eating right and he's skinny as hell.

And I think he's depressed. I hope

this trip picks him up a little. At home,

he just sits around, playing Xbox.

“Has he been to the doctor?”

I asked, knowing her answer.

“Any way you can get him to go?”

I knew the answer to that one, too.

A deep rattle that could, in fact,

be pneumonia. But Marines—real

men—don't need doctors unless

they're bleeding out. And after

dinner, he went straight outside

for a smoke, claiming it would help

dry out his chest. Cole went with

him while Dar and I headed for

the lounge for prebirthday drinks.

We ordered a round for the four

of us before I said, “I've never

seen Spence so quiet. If you can't

get him to go in on his own, isn't

there someone at the base you

can call?” Depression is common

among soldiers, and those with

too little to keep them busy often

act out in not-so-good ways.

I'm on it. But with all the Iraqi

returnees, they're really busy.

Spouses take a backseat, and

he isn't asking for help. I've got

an appointment in three weeks.

“Shush. Here they come.”

Amazingly, Spence's cough

seemed a little better. Maybe

tobacco was good for walking

pneumonia. What did I know? Still,

he directed most of his attention

inward. It was a pleasant evening,

regardless. We all kept conversation

light. No talk of war or torture except

for some commentary about Sea

Stallion helicopters wearing out from

use, and what kind of replacements

might be coming. I might have

been totally bored, except Spence

lit up, jabbering excitedly about

his area of expertise. Just watching

him pull himself out of whatever dark

place he'd been stuck in made me

smile and pretend my total attention.

Dar, I could tell, felt the same way.

It was like old times. The four of us,

drinking and laughing and cementing

our friendship. Spencer only coughed

a couple of times, and he barely leaned

on Darian at all. By the evening's

end, while I was still worried about

Spence, his problems, whatever

they were, didn't seem quite as

distressing. Until the next day.

We did California Adventure first,

and we got there just past opening.

There were no crowds to speak of.

No major lines. I loved Soarin' Over

California, a simulated hang glider ride.

Cole was partial to the big coaster,

which blasts you one hundred-plus

vertical feet before accelerating into

a loop-the-loop. Dar wanted to do

the Tower of Terror twice, but straight

drops give me a headache. Cole rode it

with her the second time. Spence waited

with me.
I could really use a smoke

right about now,
he said sincerely.

“Think maybe you should lay off

those things until you see a doctor?”

Thanks for caring, Mom. But I'll be

fine. I'm better today, you know?

As if on cue, a fresh round of hacking

punctuated the sentence. “If you say so.”

He put his arm around me. Squeezed.

I meant when I said thanks for caring.

And I knew it. But just then, Cole

and Dar appeared, arm in arm,

laughing. Spencer tensed. Softly

pushed me away. We claimed

our partners, finished park number

one, skipping the water rides. Who

gets wet in November? After lunch

we walked over to Disneyland proper

and by then people had definitely

arrived. Down Main Street, walking

was elbow to elbow. People yelling.

Kids laughing. Babies crying. The noise

level just kept rising, the deeper

we pushed into the park. “Let's get

Fast Passes for Indiana Jones, then

go do Thunder Mountain Railroad,”

I suggested. Fast Passes let you come

back within a certain window of time

and use a quicker line. You have to

know how to maneuver, but if you work

them right, they're awesome, especially

when the park is as crowded as it was

that day. The problem was, the Thunder

Mountain line was crazy long, too.

Between working our way through

that queue, doing the ride, locating

a designated smoking spot for Spencer,

waiting for him to indulge—twice—

then finding our way back to Indiana

Jones, our Fast Passes had expired.

Had he been in uniform, or at the very

least been decent to the Fast Pass Line

guy, things would probably have worked

out very differently. Instead, when the guy

tried to turn us away, Spence shoved him.

What the fuck do you mean, expired?

You want us to wait in the other line,

just because we're a couple of minutes

late? You'd better think again, asshole.

People started moving away. Spence

grabbed the guy by the collar, and I looked

at Cole, expecting him to pull Spence off.

Instead, he stood there with an amused

grin on his face. “Cole. Please.” Before

he could react, Security arrived. Bad

became worse when two uniformed

men tried to pull Spencer off Fast Pass

Man. As soon as they touched him,

Spence started swinging. Let's just say

the U.S. Marine Corps trains its men

better than Disney Security does.

It took Darian screaming and Cole

interfering to make Spencer back off.

By then, blood was flowing. None

of it was Spence's. We convinced

him to follow two bleeding guys to

the Security office. Cole had a long talk

with the man in charge, and managed

to persuade him to let Spencer go.

Darian worked her own magic,

and the injured security duo decided

not to press charges. We promised

to leave the park and not return

or ask for a refund. By that time,

Spence had chilled completely,

and really looked sort of remorseful.

At least, the guys who escorted us

to the gate didn't seem too worried.

They probably should have been.

Even Corps mechanics train in

hand-to-hand combat and lethal

force. Those two Security dudes

got off lucky with black eyes and

bloody noses. Later, over drinks,