Collateral (37 page)

“Belated birthday, actually. And

sure, please join us.” I consider

playing coy, but I think at this point

confession is the better path.

“Jonah took me to my first slam.”

That elicits a single eyebrow raise

from Dar, and that might be as far

as it goes, except Jonah adds,
I also

watched her ride her first big waves.

I don't know if she told you or not,

but she was amazing. Twelve-foot

breaks, and she totally rocked 'em.

I can see Darian trying to process

all this, and am infinitely relieved

when the lights flash, signaling

the start of the slam. I'll have some

explaining to do later. But right now,

Darian is laughing at something

Jonah said—I seem to have missed

it—and all I want to do is immerse

myself for a little while in the energy

of my best friend and my . . . If I had

to label him, my best male friend.

About Lara again. It wasn't fear,

although the way I covered the bruises

reminded me of how abused women

have hidden secrets beneath fabric

ever since the invention of the loom.

Before that, no one cared. Few enough

cared after. I was warier of Cole's

moods. But I wasn't afraid. Not really.

No, the reason I quit worrying about

Lara was because I had no choice.

As my mom had once counseled, I

could either believe him or leave him.

I had invested too much time in us

to throw it all away. I even stopped

combing posts on his Facebook

page, decided it was best to accept

his word that she was only a whisper

from his past, echoed. Echoed loudly.

I never expected to actually meet

her. But as bad luck would have it, I did.

All the way around. Funerals

generally are, and Dale's was

a particularly sorrow-steeped affair.

He passed on Good Friday. Something

significant there, to someone of faith

anyway. Mine continued to waver.

God. Dude. Why did you bring

Dale and Rochelle together, only

to force them apart so quickly?

That's what I was thinking as I flew

to Denver. Cole, who was granted

emergency leave, joined me

there and, rather than puddle jump

into Cheyenne, we rented an SUV.

Spring had officially started more than

a month before, but Old Man Winter

was stubborn, if fickle. One day it was

sixty; the next topped out at forty.

That's life on the prairie,
said Cole.

Capricious, any time of the year.

The funeral itself was at Rochelle's

church, officiated by Reverend Scott.

He was nowhere near as jolly as when

I met him the first time, at the Christmas

nuptials. In fact, he looked almost as sad

as Rochelle, though his sermon argued,

We must celebrate Dale's death

as a beginning. Like opening a new

journal with crisp, clean pages inside.

I sat next to Cole, who sat beside

his mom at the front of the church.

On her far side was Dale's brother,

Donald, and beyond him his wife,

Carlene, their four grown children

and a passel of grandkids. I'd been

introduced, but their names were

lost somewhere in the swirling sadness.

The pews filled in behind us—old

friends and rows of family members

I had yet to meet. And though Cole

knew most of them very well, he became

noticeably nervous, especially as

the noise of voices built. He cocked

himself sideways, and I could see

him throw several anxious glances

over his right shoulder. Always,

his face rotated past mine, which

seemed to ground him in the there

and then. So did familiar music.

Especially “Amazing Grace,” which

allowed him to close his eyes,

comfort in what could be trusted.

At the funeral. No insurgents,

sneaking through the sacristy

or hiding in the pews. Every single

person was a “honor the red, white,

and blue American,” and as Anglo

as they came. Still, Cole teetered

on the edge of nerve-driven

claustrophobia. I'd never seen him

like that before and it was more than

a little disquieting. There was only

one bad guy—or girl, I guess—there,

though I didn't realize it until after

the benediction, when we finally

stood and walked to the rear

of the sanctuary to form a reception

line. Lara sat midrow, toward

the back. Cole spotted her right

away, and when his attention turned

toward her, she drew mine as well.

Her face was a little rounder than

in her Facebook photo. She'd put

on a few pounds. That satisfied

me immensely. I knew it was not

a good way to feel, so I did my best

to retract my claws. I looked her

straight in the eyes. Smiled. Her wistful

expression didn't change at all. Oh,

she was good. But I belonged to Cole.

And she was here all alone. Had

she believed Cole would be, too?

Is my middle name, at least in public

situations, sans alcohol and scaffolded

with Xanax. I could hear my mother

reminding me, “Always act like a lady

in front of closed doors. Never show

emotion if it means risking your power.”

She had plenty of practice. I conjured

her face, steeled my own in the same way.

I was a lady. I only hoped that meant

something to the man I plastered myself

to. I couldn't hold his hand because we

were expected to shake hands with those

who came by, offering condolences.

Truthfully, I felt like an imposter. I liked

Dale just fine, but I didn't really know

him that well. Lara could have accused

me of stealing her commiseration, like

some petty pickpocket, pretending

to be a lady. She didn't, though. In fact,

she was gracious. She shook my hand

gently.
So happy to finally meet you.

Cole has told me so much about you.

Okay, she got me there. I couldn't really

offer an honest reciprocal greeting.

So I relied on a detour. “You, too, Lara.

I feel like I know everything about you.”

I was a snoop. She moved down

the line, gave Cole a small kiss, mouth

on mouth. Which, oh yeah, bothered

me mightily. Not that I'd let it show.

And not that I'd bring it up to him later.

I was sleeping with him that night.

She'd be on her own in a lonely hotel

bed. Or back in Denver, if she decided

to drive that far after the burial and wake.

She attended both. Of course she did.

The cemetery was like something out

of a nightmare. Iced-over headstones.

Once-lush grass crunching beneath

our feet. It must have taken a bulldozer

to dig Dale's final resting place. Grave.

That's what it was. A three-by-eight-

by-four-foot-deep trench in the frozen

earth. It may sound strange, but it was

the first time I'd ever seen a casket

lowered. It was fascinating and awe-

inspiring, at the same time. I hoped

I'd never have to witness such a thing

again, knowing, of course, I would

some day. Cole's mom. Or my own.

That was the natural order of things.

Reverend Scott seemed almost

as uncomfortable as I was. He muttered

some basic words, the usual . . .
ashes

to ashes,
capped off with a simple,
Amen.

Of that coffin all the way back out

to the ranch. It faded once I went

inside to help spread out all the

food on the tables. It seemed like

everyone brought something, most

of it sugary or otherwise carb laden.

As more and more people arrived,

cloying the rooms with body heat

and swelling noise, Cole began to

get anxious again. I fixed him a plate,

found him a beer. “Why don't you

eat outside? It's not so bad in the sun.”

Besides, by then, Lara was perched

on a chair in the living room. I kept

looking at her few extra pounds

and this little voice inside my head

insisted I should skip eating, go

straight for the alcohol. Not brilliant.

Two drinks on an empty stomach

beelined to my brain. There's a paragraph

in the
Book of Drunk
that begins

when your head fuzzes over and

your tongue swells to twice its normal

size. The first sentence starts, “You really

don't want to say this, but . . .”

Had she respected me, my space,

my relationship with her ex—who, by

the way, she dumped, not vice versa—

I might not have said a thing. Might

have listened to my mom and maintained

the loftier plane. Instead, after watching

Lara buddy up to Cole's mom, knowing

they maintained a relationship—one I had

yet to establish with Rochelle—I soft-core

freaked. I waited until Cole took his plate

outside and joined a few other men on

the porch. Until Rochelle's attention diverted

to a kid spill. Then I sidled over to Lara,

who was working on a plate of pasta—

Hamburger Helper, was my best guess.

“Can I ask you something?” I worked

really hard not to slur in the slightest.

Her mouth was full, so she nodded.

What I wanted to ask was why the hell

didn't she leave my boyfriend alone?

But caution kicked in. “How long did

you and Cole go out?” I waited for her

to swallow. She looked at me with

curious eyes.
Not quite two years.

“He and I have been together more than

four—the hardest years of my life.

As I understand it, you broke up with

him because he joined the Marines.”

I wanted her acknowledgment.

She gave it to me.
Pretty much, yes.

“Well, I fell in love with him despite that.

I've stuck it out through three deployments.

I've stressed. Cried. Celebrated every

homecoming. Been destroyed when he

couldn't make it for some special occasion.

I've done all those things for Cole, and you

refused to . . .” Bolstered by what I'd already

said, emboldened by alcohol, still I calculated

my words carefully. “So why won't you

just go away? Leave him alone. Please.”

She might have gotten angry. Maybe

it was the “please.” Her shoulders dropped.

It's hard to let go of love. I tried. But once

the anger faded, the love was still there.

I'd been looking for. So why didn't I

feel righteously vindicated? I felt sorry

for her. Regardless, I wanted her out

of Cole's life. Not to mention my life.

“Cole's still a Marine. I support him

in that. You can't take it away from

him. And I don't believe you can

take him away from me, if that's what

you have in mind. I don't know if it is.

But you have no right to interfere

in our relationship.” It was a strong

statement, and I thought it a good

place to truncate the conversation.

Rochelle had finished her cleanup

and focused her attention our way.

The smile I flashed her was more

triumphant than friendly. Not that

I knew for sure if I had triumphed.

But, at the very least, I had said

my peace. And all the suspicion

and resentment I'd been harboring

came pouring out. I turned my back

on Lara. Went to the food table.

Skipped the pasta. Gorged on salad.

Most everyone had gone, Rochelle

sank into an overstuffed leather chair.

Dale's favorite, where she could

still smell him, she said. I could relate.

The weight of the occasion seemed

to settle down onto her shoulders.

She shrunk. And so did my ego.

I sat on the ottoman in front of her.

“Will you be okay out here alone?”

Cole was worried about it, I knew.

But Rochelle was adamant.
This

is my home, even with Dale gone.

Everything he loved is all right here.

Horses. Cattle. Dogs. The land.

I won't be alone. He won't go far.

And he left me plenty to do, too.

So, yes, I'll be okay. He made sure

of that. But what about you?

“Me?” I had no clue what she was

asking. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged.
Lara told me what

you said to her. Cole loves you.

But love is like water. You have to