Page 11 of Collateral


  meant everything is rarely easy.

  It should make her nervous. Sad.

  But why is she scared—really

  scared? That makes me scared, too.

  I AM OVER THE PACIFIC

  Halfway to Hawaii, eyes closed

  and headphones fighting the noise

  of crying babies with country music

  when I remember something Dar

  said the last time we played What If?

  What if Cole got drunk and hit you?

  I let it go. Why didn’t I pursue

  it? Was she talking about Spencer?

  Is that what she’s so afraid of?

  That he’ll plunge right off the deep

  end? But she’d tell me that, right?

  Yeah, sure. Of course I would.

  Especially with Spence coming

  home. She wouldn’t face him

  alone if that was really a concern.

  Would she? God, I want to talk

  to Cole about this. Ask his opinion.

  I want you to promise me

  you won’t say anything to Cole.

  I promised I wouldn’t mention

  it to Cole. But I never said I’d keep

  quiet about it period. When I get back,

  I’ll call someone on base. A counselor.

  Or chaplain. Someone who can help.

  Rewind

  SPRING BREAK 2008

  Cole had been back from Iraq

  for several weeks. He had fifteen

  days of leave, and his request

  to take it when we could spend

  uninterrupted time together

  had been granted. He went

  home to Wyoming his first week,

  saved the second for me. The day

  I picked him up at the airport

  was crazy. First, I couldn’t decide

  what to wear. I swear, I tried on

  eight different outfits, hated

  everything the mirror showed

  me—too slutty, too old lady,

  too college student in need

  of new clothes. I finally settled

  on a turquoise sundress that

  showed off my legs and just

  enough cleavage to be tempting

  without shouting, “Hey, check

  out these babies!” Then I had

  to shave my legs. It had been

  weeks. Not like I cared most

  of the time, and mostly I wore

  jeans. Then I needed makeup—

  not too little, not too much, and

  how did that smoky-eyes thing

  go again? Everything took way

  too long, and when I finally felt

  ready and glanced at the clock,

  I was already running late. Traffic

  was heavy, and when it opened

  up, I drove like a maniac. It didn’t

  go unnoticed by a particular California

  Highway Patrolman. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  By the time he reached my window,

  I was crying mascara and plum

  eye shadow down my pretty blushed

  cheeks. Apparently, he’d never

  brought a driver to tears before.

  Excuse me, miss. But may I see

  your license and registration? Please?

  And could you please stop sniffling?

  Uh, is something wrong? Besides me?

  Why not use it? It was the truth,

  after all. “My boyfriend is just

  back from Iraq and I’m supposed

  to pick him up at the airport, and

  I’m late and traffic, and now this . . .”

  He let me off with a stern warning,

  and I might have felt really good

  about that, except now what the mirror

  revealed was a total hag. I cried

  most of the way to baggage claim.

  AT LEAST

  By the time I spotted Cole, I had

  cried off most of the makeup. That

  turned out to be a good thing, because

  seeing him only made me cry more.

  I ran into his arms, which were even

  stronger than I remembered. He lifted

  me off the ground, spun me around.

  Brought my face right up into his

  and I swear, despite my streaked

  puffy eyes, the first thing he said

  was, Goddamn, you’re beautiful. And

  then we were kissing, and we kissed

  without stopping until we really

  couldn’t find air, and I was glad

  he was wearing his uniform because

  at least then everyone waiting for

  suitcases didn’t think we were just

  plain horny or something. In fact,

  they clapped and one old guy

  whistled. “Careful,” I whispered.

  “I think he just saw my panties.”

  Cole tugged down my skirt in back

  and we laughed and kissed until

  his duffle came rolling around.

  We walked to the car, velcroed

  together. He reached for the keys.

  Let me drive? I slid into the passenger

  seat, studied him as he exited

  the parking lot, made his way

  to the freeway, merged into traffic.

  His hair was freshly cut, grunt-style.

  The ruddy tan of his steel-jawed face

  made the gold of his eyes even more

  striking. He punched the gas pedal,

  and we were flying. “Careful. There’s

  a CHP out here somewhere who’s

  already a ticket short today.” I told

  him about my earlier encounter

  without mentioning the makeup

  problem. Cole just smiled.

  Don’t worry. He can’t see us.

  Nobody can. We’re invisible.

  Maybe we were, because despite

  hitting close to a hundred miles

  per hour, no one stopped us.

  No one even seemed to notice

  us. We made it to the apartment

  in world-record time, at least for

  a beater car like mine. Tomorrow

  we’ll go by Uncle Jack’s and get

  the truck. It could use a little blowing

  out, I bet, Cole said, pulling into

  my parking place. Less than five

  minutes after turning off the ignition,

  we were in the bedroom, getting

  ready to make new memories.

  AFTER ALL THAT HURRYING

  Cole actually slowed us down.

  He stopped me just inside the door.

  Stay right there, where I can look

  at you. He sat on the bed, unlaced

  his boots, unbuttoned his shirt.

  His eyes never strayed from me

  once. Take off your dress. Slowly.

  It’s been a long time. I want to savor

  every second. He watched as I slid

  the sundress up over my head.

  Very slowly. Working the tease

  as if I had a real clue what to do.

  I stood there, in nothing but

  my prettiest pair of thong panties.

  Turn around. Easy. Not too fast.

  Now, come here. I floated toward him,

  and when I got close to the bed,

  paused. He reached out. Touched

  my breasts with hands much too

  gentle for their size. Then they slid

  around my back, coaxed me forward,

  and his lips circled my right areola,

  sucked it like a baby might. Hungry.

  He sat me on his lap, his incredible

  erection straining against his pants,

  pushing his zipper into the thin strip

  of cloth covering my crotch. “Cole,”

  I exhaled. “God, baby, I need you.”
br />   The statement was truth, and felt

  that way. He sighed, laid back against

  the quilt, loosened the closures on

  his camos. I kissed his eyes, his mouth,

  his neck, down his chest to granite

  hard penis, urged it into my mouth.

  I am no expert, but did all I could

  to bring him all the way off. He came

  very close, but stopped short. No.

  I jerked off this morning, twice in fact,

  thinking about you and what we’d do.

  Does that make you pissed? It shouldn’t.

  I did it for you, because I want you to

  come before I do. Twice, in fact. He smiled.

  Took total control. And he made me

  come before he did. More than twice.

  FOR THE NEXT WEEK

  We had sex three or four times

  a day. Halfway through, my body

  ached, but I couldn’t say no.

  Cole bordered on desperate.

  When I go back, I’ll just have

  morning wood and my fist. I want

  to fuck you till I’m black and blue.

  I need to remember you. This.

  Pretty sure it was me who wore

  bruises. His muscles were concrete,

  and he gripped my arms as if he

  let go, I might try to escape. Not mean.

  Just determined. His eyes never

  left my face as he chanted, That’s

  my girl. My beautiful, beautiful Ash.

  It was cadence. Beautiful. Beautiful.

  Ash. I loved listening to his voice.

  After a while, orgasm was the last

  thing on my mind, but the rhythm

  of his voice kept me going. That, and

  knowing our time together grew ever

  shorter. When we weren’t in bed,

  we walked the beach. Watched

  movies. Ate. Drank. Laughed. Held

  hands as we talked, trying to learn

  all we could about each other before

  he was called back to work. To duty.

  WE DID PICK UP

  Cole’s truck from his uncle Jack,

  who had stored it under a metal

  roof in his backyard. It was dusty,

  and the tires were low, but it started

  right up once Cole reconnected

  the battery cables. I didn’t realize

  how much Cole loved that truck—

  a 2006 Chevy Avalanche with a big

  V-8. This puppy screams, he said,

  proving it as we headed east toward

  Palm Springs one morning. At least,

  that’s where I thought we were going.

  Instead, where the highway split,

  he drove north toward Twenty-Nine

  Palms. We’re going to train here.

  I want to see it, and I want you to see

  it, too. The Marine Corps Air Ground

  Combat Center is a huge stretch

  of yucca-and-cactus–studded sand,

  where they train soldiers in the ways

  of desert warfare. It is stark. Cursed.

  Dry-Sahara in summer, dry-tundra in

  winter. But, for a small, magical

  window in spring, wildflowers paint

  the landscape purple and poppy

  and raspberry pink, clear to the far

  horizons. It steals your breath away.

  And that day, Cole and I drew

  the lucky card that brought us

  there at that perfect time of the year.

  RATHER THAN INVESTIGATE

  The base proper, Cole turned

  off on a dirt track that plunged

  us into all that frail beauty.

  He barely slowed, fishtailing

  the truck, scaring up bunnies

  and flushing quail. “Hey, take

  it easy. I’d like to make it out

  of here all in one piece.”

  He backed off the gas, just a little.

  What? You don’t trust my driving?

  I rested my hand on his thigh.

  “I trust everything about you. But

  it’s so pretty out here, I’d like to enjoy

  the view. Hard to do when you’re

  raising such a big cloud of dust!”

  It was behind us, and that made him

  laugh. You’re looking the wrong way!

  But he did slow down and, in fact,

  drifted to a stop, letting the Avalanche

  idle and said dust catch up to us.

  Once it settled, he opened his window.

  It is pretty out here, isn’t it? Empty

  of people, just the way I like it.

  A muted ka-boom of artillery

  reverberated off faraway hills,

  echoed back across the valley.

  “Guess we’re not so alone out

  here after all.” An afternoon

  training session must have

  begun, because more reports

  followed. Definitely not alone.

  We listened to the rise and fall

  of munitions fire for a few minutes.

  “Is that what war sounds like?”

  Not the war I was in. Regret

  inflected his voice. Damn. Look

  at the size of that critter! Wish

  I had my rifle. It was a huge

  jackrabbit, with ears half as long

  as my arms and almost as wide.

  It sniffed its way out of the brush,

  stopped in front of the truck

  and froze right there, staring

  through the window with piebald

  eyes. Unafraid. Curious, even, like

  it wanted to know more about us.

  “You wouldn’t really shoot it?”

  Hell yeah, I would. Desert’s overrun

  with the damn vermin. They ain’t

  worth a shit, except in the stew pot.

  A weird smile crept across his face.

  Let’s have a little fun. What do you say?

  HE DIDN’T WAIT

  For me to answer. Before I could

  even consider what might come

  next, he put the truck in gear.

  Punched it. By the time the rabbit

  realized squashation was imminent

  and reacted, it ran straight on up

  the road. Big mistake. Jackrabbits

  are quick. V-8s are powerful.

  Faster than small mammals.

  The rabbit feinted right. Cole

  followed. Left-right. Veer-veer.

  That would have been one dead

  animal except it got lucky.

  Goddamn little bastard! Cole

  yelled at the rearview mirror.

  The Avalanche had good clearance

  and went right over the top of

  the petrified bunny. Had the tires

  hit it, Taps. By the time Cole got

  the truck turned around, Mr. Rabbit

  had taken refuge in a hole somewhere.

  Cole was pissed. Hope I scared

  it to death, anyway. I didn’t say

  a word all the way to Palm Springs.

  BY THE TIME

  We got there, I had mostly convinced

  myself that Cole had just been messing

  around. Having, as he said, a little fun.

  He didn’t really want to run over a poor,

  defenseless rabbit. He didn’t mention

  it and I never brought it up to him again.

  We checked in to a nice hotel with

  a jetted tub in the bathroom and two

  pools outside—one hot water, one cool.

  I thought it must be very expensive

  but Cole said not to worry about it.

  What else was he saving up his money

  for? We had a fabulous dinner

  at a pricey French bistro. Neither of us


  ordered the lapin. Just seeing rabbit

  on the menu made me cringe. Cole had

  the venison medallions. I chose a nice

  vegetable ragout. Chocolate soufflé

  for dessert. And cognac. Lots of cognac.

  By the time we stumbled back into our room,

  took a hot (hot!) bath together, and fell

  into bed, I did not dream at all. Especially not

  about wildflowers, jackrabbits, or artillery fire.

  SAYING GOOD-BYE

  That time wasn’t too difficult.

  I knew I’d see him again when

  his battalion came to California

  for pre-deployment training

  at Twenty-Nine Palms. Plus,

  he’d get leave again before

  they sent him back overseas.

  Best of all, we planned a summer

  trip to Hawaii for me. It would be

  my first time visiting the islands

  and Cole would have his off-duty

  hours to spend with me. With only

  a couple of months until school

  was out, I didn’t think I’d miss

  Cole nearly as much as proved

  to be the case. Because that man

  had insinuated himself totally

  into my life, under my skin. Our

  last night together before he had

  to return to base was amazing.

  He knew exactly what to do, how

  fast—or slow—to do it for maximum

  effect. He made it all about me.

  Called me beautiful, and made

  me believe it. Whispered, I love

  you. I need you. Always will. I want

  to eat you. Drink you. Breathe you

  in. And he did. Again and again.

  OH, TO BREATHE YOU

  In the middle of the frozen

  night, to inhale the warmth

  of you, exhale the fear of you,

  no longer in my life.

  A drift

  of perfume lifting

  off the silk of your skin,

  a waking mist

  of heaven.

  Drink it in. Drink it in.

  I never understood

  the desire for eternity before.

  But then you appeared,

  midst

  the chaos of my youth,

  taught me how to love

  when I swore I never would

  again, extinguished

  the coals

  of desperation singeing

  me inside, branding me

  untouchable. Unsalvageable.

  I am exiled to the wilderness

  of hell

  no longer, because of you.

  You give forever meaning.

  Cole Gleason