Collateral

  WHETHER FROM WITHIN

  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.

  SO I WAS SURPRISED

  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.”

  I COULDN’T MANAGE MORE

  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.

  SPEAKING OF CALLS

  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.

  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.

  THAT WAS WHAT I HOPED FOR

  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

&
nbsp; 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?

  SUSPICION BREEDS BAD DREAMS

  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.

  SOMETHING ABOUT NOVEMBER

  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

  Present

  PLANNING A WEDDING

  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.

  I CHECK MY CALENDAR

  Saturdays, late June. The twenty-third

  or the thirtieth. Could go the Friday

  evenings before or the Sundays after.

  That’s, like, nine dates. Surely we can

  find a winery that can accommodate

  one of them. I call Mom, ask her what

  she thinks of my plan, and if she’d be

  willing to help out. Avoidance. Well,

  you know, I’m pretty busy with school.

  Redirect. “But, Mom, winter break

  is pretty soon. Can’t you spare a few

  hours to make some calls for me?”

  Change of subject. You’re coming

  home for Christmas, right? You could

  make the calls yourself then. Wow.

  Tactic shift. “I guess I could. So,

  what do you think of the idea?

  It might be kind of expensive.”

  Long sigh. I guess we’ll know that

  after you make those calls. How

  much were you thinking of investing

  in this wedding, Ashley? Look, I put

  a little money away for your day.

  You might want to consider the best

  way to spend it, though. Big wedding

  or maybe the down payment on a house?

  I HATE LOGIC

  But only when it’s applied

  to something as emotional

  as this. “I’ll think about it.

  Can you give me a ballpark

  figure, though? It will help.”

  I’ve got around twenty

  five thousand earmarked.

  If you’re careful, you could

  do a very nice wedding for

  half of that. Or less. Or . . .

  Or I could just wait. That’s

  what she wants to say.

  I won’t give her the chance.

  “Thanks, Mom. I’ll make

  some calls and then we can

  decide. How many people

  do you think we should plan

  for?” Way to keep her involved.

  “I should probably make

  a guest list. Can you help?”

  Another, bigger sigh. Of

  course. When you’re home

  at Christmas we can do it

  together. You should get

  hold of Cole’s mom, too.

  Good point. “I will. Hey, Mom?

  I really appreciate your support.

  Love you lots. Bye.” All things

  considered, that went okay.

  I SPEND A COUPLE OF HOURS

  Looking at websites. The average

  cost of a wedding is just about

  the amount of money Mom has

  put aside. The average cost

  of a winery wedding . . . well,

  there are just so many variables.

  The brides are beautiful, in white

  dresses, among the grapevines.

  The handsome grooms stand

  happily by them, all decked out

  in tuxes. We’ll save a little there.

  Cole will wear his dress blues.

  Catering, per person. DJ or band?

  Flowers. Rings. Invitations. Do

  we really need “save the date”

/>   cards? So much to consider. No

  wonder it takes so long to plan

  a wedding. And I’m just getting

  started. We definitely need those

  guest lists to do very much. I can

  start mine now, let Mom add to

  it later. I put in a call to Cole’s mom.

  Feel relieved when it goes to voice

  mail. “Hi Rochelle. This is Ashley.

  How are you feeling? Cole says

  you’re doing much better. Listen,

  I’m starting to make wedding plans

  and before I can do much, I need

  a guest list. Can you please help out on

  your end? Thanks and I’ll be in touch.”

  I START MY OWN LIST

  Relatives. Friends. Many of whom

  I haven’t spoken to in years. My bad.

  I mean, school has been my focus. Well,

  school and Cole. I used to be popular,

  but I really have turned into something

  of a recluse. Who will I even ask to be

  in the wedding party? Darian, of course.

  Hopefully, she’ll come around and agree

  to be my maid of honor. Bridesmaids?

  Sophie and Brittany, I suppose, though

  it’s been weeks since we’ve gone out

  together. I haven’t even told them

  I’m engaged yet. Note to self: Call

  Sophie and Brittany. Invite them out

  so you can break the news in person.

  And maybe have a little fun in the process.

  I am considering just how little fun

  I’ve allowed myself when my phone rings.

  Rochelle, calling me back already?

  Nope. Local number. Wow. It’s Jonah.

  Morning, Ashley. Do you have a wetsuit?

  I hear they’re breaking large at Swami’s.

  LET’S SEE

  Spend the day alone, perusing

  wedding websites and stressing

  over not getting out enough and

  having fun or . . . surfing with Jonah.

  Kind of a no-brainer, except,

  “Actually, I don’t have a wetsuit.

  I don’t surf much in the winter.”

  Oh, but December is prime

  riding. Massive storms up north

  mean big breaks down here.

  And no worries. I’ve got an extra

  wetsuit that should fit you.

  “Does this mean I get to ride

  in your Woodie?” That sounds

  vaguely vulgar, but we both

  let it go and he says he’ll pick me

  up in a half hour. Guess that