Collateral (25 page)

gold locket. I gave him a Christopher

medal. “To keep you safe over there

and here at home.” Remnants of my

Catholic upbringing. I don't embrace

it, but can't quite let it go completely.

Reverend Scott fought his way through

the driving snow and arrived just past

one p.m. Cole let him in, took his coat,

and by the time the minister had warmed

his hands in front of the fire, the happy

couple was ready to tie the knot. All

decked out in his very best sapphire

silk shirt, string tie, and Stetson hat,

Dale looked every ounce the cowboy.

Rochelle wore a plain peach-colored

dress and the prettiest smile ever.

A soft, sweet kiss served as the amen

for the simple nuptials. Reverend Scott

stayed for turkey and trimmings, with

pie and eggnog for dessert. It was merry,

indeed. None of us knew then that some

covert cancer cell had infiltrated

Dale's stomach. And it was multiplying.

On any of our minds.

It probably would have

been the perfect trip

except for a random

discovery that almost

dissolved the bond

between Cole and me.

Over time, his mom and

I had learned to divvy up

Cole's love. I might have

been his heart, but she was

his blood. Both, we knew, were

necessary to keep a guy alive.

I think she was used to letting

go of those she loved—her

awful husband. Her lovely

little girl, who went home

too young. With them, she

had no choice, but she opened

the door for Cole. And, like

the old saying goes, he came

back to her. He always would.

I had no problem with that,

or with knowing he loved her

at least as much as me.

Probably more. I wasn't

jealous of that. It was time,

lost to her, that I sometimes

resented. As the years marched

on, even that stung less.

Was not responsible for

the extreme attack of jealousy

I suffered a couple of days

after Christmas, although when

the whole thing first went down,

I wondered if she had encouraged

the source. At the time, I was feeling

isolated. Unsure of the trembling

ground I stood on. I had no clear

idea if Rochelle was in my corner,

or wanted to slam her front door

in my face. She had seemed so

welcoming. Had I just been naïve?

My own mom, who has had plenty

of reasons to suffer the bite of

the little green monster, once told me,

The only person jealousy hurts

is the one who's feeling its sting.

You can't make someone love you.

You can't force faithfulness.

If those things don't exist for your

partner, you have the choice to stay

or go. Either way, you are in charge.

Jealousy works against you. It takes

control away from you, hands it over

to the opposition. Maintain control.

Truthfully, throughout most of my life,

I had nothing to be jealous about.

Yeah, a few parts in plays that went

to less talented people—at least

I thought so at the time. Who knows?

But as far as relationships, the only

one who mattered enough for me to feel

that sort of possessiveness about

is the one I have now. So far, there

have been only a few green monster

attacks. Most were of the “little” variety.

Other women at bars—vampires, mostly.

Sometimes those girls were downright

“don't take no for an answer” pushy,

trying to steal Cole away from me right

under my nose. He laughed it off, but

I didn't find it funny. And after enough

alcohol, it led to an argument or two.

But nothing he couldn't get me to laugh

about later, not to mention his making me

feel just the slightest bit petty.
There

are lots of pretty girls in the world,

he would say.
But I fell in love with

you. No girl can ever change that,

or tempt me away.
I believed him.

Felt like a total jerk for thinking bad

of him. Until the day I came across

Lara's letters. Then, I didn't know what

to believe. Then, I almost hated him.

The one he claimed to be nothing

more than a dusty memory.

It was the last day of the Christmas

visit to Wyoming—a Sunday.

Cole got up and went to church with

his mom and Dale. I lounged in bed.

When I finally roused myself, the house

was cool. Jeans and a long-sleeved T

couldn't fight the chill, but my jacket

was too much. My Southern California

“warm clothes” were laughable, so I dove

into Cole's drawers, looking for a sweater.

I found a nice green one, and underneath

it, a small bundle of handwritten letters.

Well, who wouldn't look? Up until that

minute, I hadn't given a second thought

to Cole's ex-girlfriend. Didn't even know

her name was Lara, or that she lived

in Denver. Loved to ski, and sometimes

took her Australian shepherd with her.

Had no idea that before Cole left school

they had talked about getting married,

or that his decision to join the Marines

was the only reason she had changed

her mind. One of her letters made it

very clear that she was staunchly

antiwar, anti-Bush/Cheney, anti-

anything or anyone who supported

them. If I had stopped reading there,

I would have been okay. But others

came after—love-drenched apologies

and entreaties to be safe overseas.

And this one:

So happy you're safe and sound, back on American

ground. I was out of my mind, worried about you.

Without your emails, I would have freaked completely.

I would love to visit you in Hawaii. Maybe next

summer. Meanwhile, I can't wait to see you at

Christmas. Your mom invited me to dinner.

Hope that's okay. Don't want you to feel awkward.

Love always,

Lara

Christmas 2008, while I waited in Lodi

for him to join me, he was with her?

Put it back in the drawer.

I didn't feel cold anymore.

At least, not the kind of cold

a sweater could fix. The pulse

at my temples picked up until

it beat so hard I could see it

in the mirror, pushing against

my skin like it wanted to burst.

I restacked the letters exactly

as I found them, bound them

with the same rubber band.

But I didn't put them back in

the drawer. Instead, I stretched

the sheets over the bed, left

the evidence there, on the foot

of the homemade quilt. It did

strike me then that Rochelle

knew about the letters. She had to.

She had moved Cole's dresser,

and his clothes. Folded them,

put them inside the drawers.

No way could she have missed

the letters there. And she'd asked

Lara to dinner the year before.

What must she have thought

of me? That I was a romance

wrecker? Or maybe just stupid?

I picked up Cole's clothes, folded

them, too. Put my suitcase right.

Everything neat. Everything orderly.

Everything except my life. No way

could I reconcile my Cole with

the person who had lied to me.

How could he promise the things

he did, all the while plotting such

treachery? Under other circumstances,

I probably would have packed

up and left, but I was alone

there, somewhere in the frozen

wilds of Wyoming, with no available

transportation. I was pretty sure

I could not convince a cab to come

all the way to the ranch, if Cheyenne

even had such a thing as taxis.

I thought about walking, but even

if I could have found my way on foot

to the airport, it would have been

a very long, cold hike. I was trapped.

Six steps one way, six steps back,

all the while having a conversation—

no, more like an argument—with myself.

Logical me: The last letter

was dated over a year ago.

Emotional me: Doesn't mean

there haven't been others since.

Oh, yeah, and what about e-mail?

Logical me: You don't know when

he e-mailed her last. Maybe it was

just his first deployment.

Emotional me: Right. And even if

it was, computer time is limited.

He could have e-mailed me instead.

Logical me: Your relationship

was fledgling. Theirs had ended.

Sometimes it's hard to let go.

Emotional me: He told me it was

over. He totally lied to me.

Logical me: Most men are liars.

I thought you understood that.

Emotional me: I can't believe

that. All men are not my dad.

Logical me: You sound like me.

When they got home from church.

It's a place inside my head I crawl

into, when things get too overwhelming.

Cole hasn't found me there very often.

But he did that day. He came in, all

smiles. The look on my face told

him a lot. But when I asked him to

please come back in the bedroom,

he definitely did not expect to see

those letters soiling the quilt.

All I could say was, “You lied to me.”

He offered no excuse, only apology.

I don't know what to say, Ash. I . . .

“You told me there was no girl back

home. No other girl at all. Why did

you tell me that if it wasn't true?”

There wasn't. Not really. As far as

I knew, she had vacated my life

completely. I never thought she'd

change her mind. Besides, by

the time she did, I was in love

with you. She means nothing to me.

“Shut up, Cole. If she means nothing

to you, why did you see her last

Christmas? How dare you make me

think I was being unfair, wanting to

be with you, when you . . . God, what

else have you lied to me about?”

Nothing. Ashley, she and my mom set

up the Christmas thing. That was before

I let my mother know for sure that Lara

and I will not be getting back together.

I swear, I wasn't plotting to see her.

“Really? You mean, she doesn't

write you in Hawaii, or when you're

overseas? Looks like she e-mails

you, and that you reply. If you love

me so damn much, have you told her

about me?” I was out of breath and

my heart was beating furiously. He

started toward me, but I backed away.

Please, Ash, calm down. She e-mailed

a couple of times to make sure I was

okay. Not to set up a date. All I did

was respond so she wouldn't worry.

He had left my last question

unanswered. Suddenly, it took

on tremendous importance.

“Cole, have you told Lara about

you and me? I really need to know,

and please tell me the truth.”

He couldn't have lied if he tried.

His eyes held nothing but guilt.

No. It just never came up, and

it didn't seem that impor—

Silent in anger. When I blow off

steam, it's generally internal. If

I hadn't exploded outwardly

right then, I probably would have

imploded soon after. Instead,

I picked up the letters, threw

them in his face. “Fuck you!”

I screamed, loud enough to

pierce the bedroom walls.

I hardly cared. “I tell everyone

about you. Brag about you.

The only possible reason

for you not to tell her about me

is because you want her, too.

Well, sorry, but you can't have

us both.” I grabbed my jacket,

stomped out of the room, down

the hall, past Cole's bewildered

mom. If she hadn't been standing

there, I might have slammed

the door. I was probably a half

mile away from the house before

Cole caught up with me. By then,

the glittering rage had faded

to a muted halo. So when Cole

stopped me, pulled me into

his arms, I didn't resist. But when

he apologized again, promised

to make things right, I didn't believe

him. Didn't forgive him. Not right away.

Against an enemy

is no more than what's

expected. And yet, such

an outpour of energy

might very well be

better

directed toward

a silent stalk, circuitous