Collateral

  approaching fury. A Marine? Who

  in their right mind would marry

  a Marine? I mean, when Spence

  and I got married, I had no idea

  what I was getting into. But you?

  How could you marry Cole, knowing

  what you do? Jesus, Ashley! I like Cole,

  I do. but he’s a soldier, and that

  means he’ll never belong completely

  to you. What about your dreams?

  They’ll always come second because

  what the good ol’ U.S. of A. desires

  has to come first. Why do you feel

  the need to mess with the good thing

  you’ve got going? Without that stupid

  piece of paper, you can walk any time

  you decide you’ve had enough. It’s not

  like you have to get married, right?

  “Have to? You mean, like, am I

  pregnant? How old-fashioned of

  you, Dar. And glad you have such

  a high opinion of me. Like I don’t

  understand how to use birth control?

  Even if I didn’t, I’d never use it as

  an excuse to get married. You didn’t

  marry Spence because you were

  pregnant, ri—?” Holy crap. This

  is so not the time to bring up

  her possible pregnancy. Besides, if

  they got married because of that,

  why would she have had an abortion?

  No, that doesn’t make sense. And now

  I’ve gone and put my foot in my mouth.

  All I had to do was complete the word.

  Instead, I skidded to a stop one consonant

  sound short and now she looks at me

  with suspicion, like I’ve been spading

  her personal ground. “Sorry. Look, I’ve

  dissected the marriage idea for years.

  Alternately dismissed and embraced it.

  I’ve stuck with Cole through amazing

  highs and impossible lows. That has to

  be worth something. This has nothing

  to do with being pregnant, although

  I wouldn’t mind having kids at some

  point. Don’t you want a family, Dar?”

  Why do I keep shooting off my mouth?

  Then again, I’ve opened the door.

  She sighs. I don’t know. Maybe.

  But it isn’t high on my list. Right

  now I have to get through this

  mess before I can even think about

  the future. Any future. But whatever

  happens, I won’t have kids with Spence.

  SHE LEAVES THE CALZONE

  Untouched. Goes to her liquor cabinet.

  Doesn’t ask if I want some, doesn’t try

  to explain why she does. She pours two

  glasses of something clear. I can’t see

  the label from here. Alcohol to smudge

  the edges—the grunt way. “Please eat

  too, okay? I mean, I slaved all day to

  make that incredible calzone for you.”

  The humor blunts the tension. Dar nibbles

  a little, drinks a lot. Gin, it turns out. Not

  my favorite, especially straight, but I go

  ahead and join her. When things get a bit

  fuzzy, she clears her throat. Ah-um.

  I was pregnant when I married Spencer,

  Ash. Everything just happened so fast,

  you know? My mom would probably

  have supported me, but my dad would

  have killed me. A wedding seemed like

  the easiest solution. Spence was so happy.

  But then he went away, and he was gone

  for so long. I couldn’t imagine raising

  a baby alone. I mean, I was just a kid

  myself. I wanted to go out. Wanted to

  party. Diapers and bottles and whatever?

  I just couldn’t do it. She pauses, and her

  face contorts, a precursor to the tears

  that follow. I had an abortion, Ash. I

  thought it would be easy, but it was

  awful. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.

  Some things shouldn’t be kept secret.

  Rewind

  SOME SECRETS BITE

  And sometimes it’s just a fluke that

  they are dragged out into the light.

  After the Disneyland birthday fiasco,

  Cole put in for holiday leave and we

  actually celebrated Christmas together.

  He had met my parents the previous

  year, and since we were still a thing,

  he decided it was finally time to take

  me home to Wyoming. It was blowing

  Christmas Eve snow when we landed at

  the little airport. A white-knuckle landing,

  which had me uptight. I’ve been through

  worse, Cole soothed. And so has this pilot,

  I’m guessing. Anyway, God’s smiling.

  Felt more like God was pissed off

  to me, but he arranged for a safe

  touchdown on the small runway.

  Cole’s mom was there to meet us,

  along with her new leading man, Dale.

  I was so nervous, I was shaking, and

  not just because of the weather.

  What if she hated me? She and Cole

  were so tight. I had crazy ideas about

  some imposing Wild West woman wanting

  to keep Cole and me apart. Instead, I met

  a gentle lady, countrified, to be sure, but more

  Bridges of Madison County than True Grit.

  I’m not sure how someone so petite

  could have created a son as beefy as Cole,

  but next to him she resembled a fairy—tiny.

  Delicate. Almost gossamer. All she needed

  was wings. When she saw us, her smile

  was a bonfire against the blizzard outside.

  It was a small surprise, midst bigger ones

  soon to come. Cole’s embrace lifted her

  off her feet. When he spun her around,

  she insisted, Put me down, you. I want

  to meet your girl. She took my cold hand

  in her warm one. So happy to meet you,

  Ashley. I’m Rochelle, and this is Dale.

  COLE HAD MET DALE

  The year before. Dale was dating

  Rochelle then, but she still lived

  in town. On her own. Turned out,

  things had recently changed. A lot.

  Rochelle directed us to Dale’s big

  Suburban. Guess you should know

  that Dale moved me out to his ranch.

  Me, and everything I own. You’ll love

  the place. Even under all this snow.

  The ten-minute drive took us

  almost thirty, at blizzard-driving

  speed. Finally, we pulled up in front

  of a low ranch-style house. We fought

  our way through the pelting ice to

  the front door. Inside, it was warm

  and inviting, and Rochelle had done

  the place up right, with garland and

  mistletoe and a huge Christmas tree.

  Cole whistled, and she said, I could

  never give you this kind of Christmas

  before. Glad I can give it to you now.

  I only wish your sister could be here

  to share it with us. I wished then that

  I could have met her, to have known

  someone he cared so much for. We

  would never share that connection.

  Chalk up yet another small regret.

  DALE’S HOUSE

  Was enormous. It must have been

  awful living out there alone. No wonder

  he was anxious to move Rochelle in.

  Your bedroom here is exactly like it
/>
  was at home, she told Cole. Except,

  there’s a whole lot of extra space

  around the furniture. It’s a little bigger.

  It was big, all right. Like the rest of

  the house, it had aging wood floors

  brightened—and warmed—with

  Southwestern-style throw rugs in

  turquoise and orange. Two big

  windows looked south, toward

  the frosted hills. See? said Rochelle,

  proudly, I even arranged it just like

  it was before. Same lamp on your

  desk. Same clothes in your drawers.

  I want it to feel like home to you.

  It’s great, Mom, he said, perhaps a bit

  stiffly. Will you give us a few minutes

  to unpack, please? She gave us a funny

  look and when she left, I asked, “Is it

  okay that we sleep in here together?

  Not being married?” No guest room?

  Don’t worry about it. They’re not

  married, either, you know.

  THAT WOULD CHANGE

  Practically right away. The smell

  of roasting turkey woke us late morning

  on Christmas day. Rochelle was up

  early to bake pies and put the bird in

  the oven. By the time we dressed and

  went in search of coffee, the kitchen

  looked like a page out of Martha Stewart

  Living. My mom always made the holidays

  nice. This was amazing. Later, Cole

  assured me it was not Christmas-as-usual.

  There was a reason beyond Rochelle’s

  wanting to make the holiday special.

  I hate to spring this on you, she told Cole,

  as she handed him a mug of Christmas

  blend “Joe.” But we just made the decision

  a couple of days ago. See, Dale and I

  want to get married, and we want to do

  the deed while you’re here. Today, in fact,

  if Reverend Scott can get his butt out here

  through all this snow. You good with that?

  Cole is not the type to wear emotion

  on his face. He sat very still for several

  seconds, turning it over in his mind.

  Finally, he nodded. I never liked you

  living all on your own. Dale seems like

  a decent guy, though you’d know more

  about that than I would. If you want to

  make it legal, I guess I’m good with it.

  IT WAS A MEMORABLE CHRISTMAS

  Dale had wanted Rochelle to break

  the news without him present. Not sure

  if he thought Cole would react badly or

  what. Once he knew Cole had, in fact,

  given his blessing, we all exchanged

  gifts. Cole gave me a pretty filigreed

  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.

  BUT THAT WAS THE LAST THING

  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.

  COLE’S MOM

  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.

  PROBABLY A VALID PHILOSOPHY

  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.

  LARA WAS HIS COLLEGE SWEETHEART

  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?

  I FOLDED THE GREEN SWEATER

  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