Collateral (33 page)

two look pretty darn tight.”

Yeah, well. Don't tell Mom and

Dad just yet. But Gretchen and

I might be getting married, too.

As the nighttime temperatures

in San Diego slid lower and lower,

toward forty degrees, in Helmand

Province, Afghanistan, Cole and crew

celebrated ninetyish daytime temps,

with nights in the upper sixties.

They were ecstatic. Up until the first

week in November, I talked to Cole

fairly regularly. He was in decent

spirits. Coming home in just six weeks.

We knew by then he'd spend Christmas

in Kaneohe Bay. I'd see him in January.

Ramadan had ended. Rumor had it

that during the holy month, the locals

were grouchier than normal, having

to fast from sunrise to sunset. Skirmishes

were common. The Marines worked

closely with the Afghan National Army

and Afghan National Police, in an effort

to allow children to safely attend school

and allow farmers to harvest their crops

without Taliban interference. Problem

was, every now and then a sneaky

insurgent would find a job within the ANA

or ANP. And then, all bets were off.

Or from direct enemy fire, there

were Marines among the coalition

casualties. But as the time for Cole

to return to Hawaii grew nearer,

my anxiety lessened, despite the fact

that his final weeks carried him out

beyond the wire, closer to the heart

of Taliban country. Some people,

probably wiser than I, grow more

nervous as their soldier's homecoming

nears. They know that every day

that passes problem-free increases

the odds that something bad might

happen. But I wasn't seeing things

that way. Maybe it was because

I kept myself busy, or because I kept

myself medicated, but I didn't worry

too much about Cole, not even when

communication dried up. I knew his

patrols were sending him beyond

the reach of phones or computers,

expected I would hear from him once

he was back behind the wire at Camp

Leatherneck. There was a rhythm

to his life, a rhythm to mine, and

before long our rhythms would mesh

into a gentle syncopation of time

together. That's how it had been for

almost four years, despite a few hiccups

that threw us completely off-beat.

No, shocked, really, when I got

a late-November call from Cole's

mom.
Ashley, honey, now don't

worry. Everything's fine. Cole's okay . . .

Not a good start to any phone call.

But there was . . . uh, something

happened.
At that point, her voice

kind of caught in her throat.

Um, a roadside bomb went off

and the Humvee he was riding in

flipped over into a drainage ditch.

The guys in the truck behind them

pulled everyone out. Cole was wearing

body armor, so he wasn't hurt. Well,

he had a slight concussion, but that

barely slowed him down. Stubborn

kid wanted to go straight back to work.

Can you believe it? They kept him

overnight for observation, but he walked

out on his own after that. Said a little

bell ringing in his helmet wasn't any

big deal. That is just so much like Cole,

isn't it? Ashley? Are you there?

I was, and I was speechless. “I'm

here. Thanks for letting me know.”

Small talk about the ranch

or Dale or to ask if any letters

had arrived from Lara. A shock

wave of nausea shook my body.

Just like that, he could have been

gone, erased from my life as if

he'd never been part of it. And

I would have heard that news

secondhand, too. I resented

that, but not as much as I hated

the overall implication. What

must it be like to get that call,

or the ring of the doorbell? To

have your other half severed

completely, or returned to you

with pieces missing? Cole got

lucky. In my belief system, luck

and God are interchangeable.

God was watching over him,

allowed him to walk away with

a few scratches and a shaken

brain. Hopefully, not shaken too

hard. But on another day, God

might have been busy elsewhere.

It was a wakeup call I didn't need.

I did not get one from Cole, giving

me any sort of details. I kept waiting,

but it never came. Finally, I e-mailed

him. Said his mom had mentioned

something about a little accident. Still,

I had to wait several days to hear

back from him, via return e-mail.

OH BABY, IT WAS NO BIG DEAL. I KNEW

YOU'D BE WORRIED OVER NOTHING
,

SO I DIDN'T WANT YOU TO KNOW
.

I WOULDN'T HAVE TOLD MOM, EITHER
,

BUT IT'S PROTOCAL TO INFORM NEXT

OF KIN. ANYWAY
,
I WENT STRAIGHT

BACK OUT ON PATROL
.
GOOD AS NEW
,

EXCEPT FOR A HEADACHE THAT WENT

AWAY AFTER A COUPLE OF DAYS
.

MY BUDDY, TIM, SAID WHEN THAT BOMB

BLEW IT WAS PRETTY EXCITING
.

I DON'T KNOW. I DON'T REMEMBER

IT AT ALL. NOT THE EXPLOSION
,

OR GETTING EXTRICATED FROM

THE VEHICLE. THEY TELL ME I WAS

UNCONSCIOUS FOR TEN OR FIFTEEN

MINUTES. FIRST THING I REMEMBER

WAS SEEING TIM'S SHIT-EATING GRIN

AND HIS LIPS SAYING, “WELCOME BACK
,

BUDDY.” I COULN'T HEAR HIM AT ALL
.

NOT FOR THE ROARING IN MY EARS
.

I COULDN'T HEAR MUCH FOR A FEW

HOURS. TELL YOU THE TRUTH, I WAS

A TEENSY BIT WORRIED I MIGHT BE

DEAF. BUT, LITTLE BY LITTLE, THE NOISE

IN MY HEAD WENT AWAY AND MY HEARING

CAME BACK, GOOD AS NEW. PHEW
.

Curiosity got the best of me and

I had to ask if everyone else

involved made it out okay, too.

ALL BUT ONE. HIS BACK TOOK

THE PRESSURE FROM THE BLAST
.

BUSTED A VERTEBRAE. THEY'RE NOT

SURE, BUT HE MIGHT BE PARALYZED
.

TOTAL SUCKAGE. FUCKING BASTARDS
.

One more thing to be thankful

for. In fact, I was so grateful,

I almost forgot to be mad. But

not quite. Whatever his reasons,

Cole had no right to try to keep

me in the dark about something

as important as that. I didn't want

to be protected. I wanted the truth.

I turned the word over in my head.

Distrust surfaced from beneath

the shimmer of anger that remained.

Lara. Why did she cross my mind

when Cole's mom got hold of me?

I had this sudden desire to know

more about her. All I knew was

her name and that she lived near

Denver. How could I find her?

Facebook, of course. It took about

two minutes. I expected her to be

a knockout. Maybe even a model

or something. Not quite. According

to her profile, she worked ski patrol

in the winter, lifeguarded in the summer.

She was cute, not beautiful, but

probably looked great in a swimsuit.

Her photos showed her on skis,

drinking with friends, and playing

Frisbee with her dogs. She liked

reading, reality TV, and Adele.

Her status showed “in a relationship.”

At first that made me feel better.

But then I got to thinking. I started

scanning her wall, hoping Cole

didn't show up there somewhere.

I scrolled down a very long way.

But I saw no sign of him there.

But somehow it wasn't quite enough.

Cole had a Facebook page, too.

Not that he ever used it much, at least

not when he was deployed and his

computer time was limited. I rarely

went looking there, but was tempted

to that day. His posts were dated

very far apart. The most recent

was a couple months old.
FUCKING

118 DEGREES IN THE SHADE. TOO

GODDAMN HOT TO CAUSE TROUBLE
.

And, by God, the one comment

there was from her.
GOOD. YOU

NEED TO STAY OUT OF TROUBLE
.

That was it. Nothing more. No

words of love, or even affection.

They were Facebook friends. So what?

They didn't seem to communicate

very often. Although, I had no idea

if they were messaging each other.

Or e-mailing each other. Or writing

each other. And if I really had to worry

about any of that, it's not like I could

change it. I had to believe in Cole.

In us. And I did. Except when I didn't.

Why did I have to find out about Lara?

Now that I had her face

embedded in my brain,

I had a doozer about Lara.

I was in the desert, picking

wildflowers, when it started

to rain. The sky opened up

and it poured. I was soaked

in seconds. The sand sponged

the water but couldn't hold it.

Soon, a wet sheet covered

the land, to the far horizon.

Flash flood. It picked me up,

carried me along, and it was all

I could do to keep my head

above the flow. Faster. Faster.

I swam hard, a long way, but

my shoulders grew tired, my legs

went weak, so I flipped onto

my back, and the river enfolded

me with pewter arms. Pulled

me under. I held my breath,

struggled for more, looked

up, seeking help. There, in

her lifeguard tower, Lara smiled

down at me as my lungs filled.

He doesn't want you, anyway
.

Woke, soaked and shivering,

between sweat-drenched sheets.

Touches me.

How, splendid in nutshell

skin, she exposes the green lies

of June, swollen ego unsustainable

beyond a single shot of

summer.

Something about November

touches me like a lover.

How she bares herself

beneath autumn's iced blue

sky, defiance in her tarried

striptease, the low slink

of shadow.

Something about November

touches me like a lover's kiss.

How she shivers, wet

with rain too long coming,

soaks her earth

with the heady sweat of

downpour.

Something about November

touches me like you do.

How she waits for gray

December tendrils to infiltrate

secret places, infuse

her with the ephemeral light

of solstice.

Cole Gleason

Begins with a couple of basics—

when and where. I'm thinking

the end of June, to give Cole

time to return from Afghanistan,

debrief, and decompress. Plus,

the Lodi weather can still be cool

early in the month. While I would

love to get married in the same

church my parents did, Cole isn't

Catholic. We'd have to jump through

too many hoops. A nice outdoor

venue should do. Maybe up-country,

in the woods. Or at a winery.

Pricey, and it might be late to find

one that can accommodate us. But

there are many in the area. If I get

right on it . . . Or maybe I'll put Mom

on it. That way, at least I'll know how

much my parents will help out with

this financially, and if I get Mom

involved, hopefully she'll become more

enthusiastic about the day. I need

her in my corner. Like, really a lot.

I should probably shoot the idea

past Cole first. But he told me to go

ahead and make the plans, and anyway,

that's the bride's prerogative, right?

Besides, who could argue with a wedding

at a California winery? It's perfect.