“Looks like Amy’s here.”
“You know her?”
“Sure! She’s my roommate. Let’s go say ‘hi’ before their lips get permanently locked together.”
“I think it’s too late for that,” I muttered, but she just laughed.
“Hey, Ames!” she called.
Reluctantly, Amy pulled her mouth off of Ches and leaned back. I saw him shifting uncomfortably and couldn’t help smiling. Dude must have had a helluva boner after that make-out session.
“Hey, Stacey,” said Amy, slightly breathless, then turned to me. “You must be Seb. I’ve heard sooo much about you: it’s really good to meet you.”
“You, too,” I said grinning, as we shook hands. “Although you look too smart to be going out with this asshole.”
Ches tried to punch me on the arm, but I ducked away and Amy laughed.
“Oh, happy birthday, by the way.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, not really wanting to be reminded.
A look of sympathy crossed her face and I realized that Ches must have told her everything. It made me slightly uncomfortable but that’s what couples did, right? Shared their secrets. At least she hadn’t said anything to Stacey, and I appreciated that. Seemed like Ches’s girl was cool. I was glad about that. Ches was family: he was my brother.
“By the way, man,” said Ches. “Mom sent you a birthday card. It’s back at my place. Remind me to give it to you later.”
“Really?” I couldn’t help smiling. Shirley, Ches’s mom, always did stuff like that. “Tell her I said thanks.”
“Tell her yourself, you lazy bastard. You do know how to use email, right?”
I gave him the finger and he laughed at me.
I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to either Ches or Amy after that, because they spent the rest of the evening making out. It was kind of strange for me, seeing my friend like that, and remembering that Caro and I had never been able to behave like that in public. I really resented that we’d hardly had any time to just be us. I wished again that she was here. Now that there was nothing stopping us, I missed her even more. I knew it was dumb to expect her to walk into the bar, but I couldn’t help looking anyway. Every time I saw a woman with long, brown hair, my stomach flipped over—but it was never her.
I checked my phone again: no messages.
I’d just decided to wallow in misery and get shitfaced, when Ches announced that the party was moving to his place. I groaned, inwardly. I’d really hoped we could just go back and chill.
No chance of that now.
We trailed back to the house that Ches shared with a couple of guys from his Business and Economics classes. Gareth had already got the party started with a couple of kegs, three crates of beer, and a baggie of weed that he was using to roll joints. I looked longingly at the joint that was being passed around, but I knew I couldn’t risk it. I only had another four day’s leave and I’d be tested as soon as I got back. I didn’t know for sure how long that shit stayed in your blood.
“Sorry, man,” said Ches, following my gaze.
“No worries, I’ll just stick to beer and my good friend, Jack,” I said, showing him the bottle of Jack Daniel’s that I’d brought with me in my duffel bag.
He smiled, and then looked nervously over his shoulder, shuffling from foot to foot.
“’Sup man?”
“Ah, shit, Seb. I wasn’t planning on seeing Amy tonight, what with it being your birthday an’ all, but now that she’s here…”
Yeah, I got what he was saying.
“Nah, it’s cool. Go make your girl happy. I’ll be fine. Just tell me you’ll still be up for a surf tomorrow morning.”
“Deal, my friend.”
He grinned at me, then grabbed Amy’s hand and pulled her up the stairs.
Well, fuck. I checked my phone pointlessly. No messages. This was turning out to be a real bastard of a birthday.
“Hey,” said Stacey, walking towards me with a couple of beers, “looks like we’ve both been abandoned. D’you wanna go sit outside? It’s not so smoky out there.”
I shrugged. I didn’t really have a choice. I was supposed to be sleeping on the couch, but right now it was occupied by a bunch of strangers smoking weed. Fucking great.
We sat down under a large mulberry tree and leaned against its broad trunk. I passed her my bottle of Jack and she took a large gulp and followed it up with a beer chaser. I smiled when she coughed slightly.
“You okay?”
“Sure, it just went down the wrong way,” she lied.
“If you say so,” I agreed.
She was quiet for a moment.
“Seb, can I ask you something?”
I nodded silently, wondering what she was going to say.
“This girl you might or might not be waiting for—is she your girlfriend?”
Oh, right. Pretty damn obvious question now that I thought about it.
I sighed. “She was. I’m … hoping she will be again. I don’t know. We haven’t spoken for a while—I just thought she’d be here tonight.”
She looked at me, her expression serious. “Bad break up?”
I snorted, almost amused by her question. Almost.
“Yeah, you could say that—pretty fuckin’ bad.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything.
We sat there talking quietly, drinking the Jack. She told me about her brother who’d done two tours in Iraq, and she told me about her classes and how much she liked living in San Diego. She told me about Amy, too, and it was all good stuff. It made me feel a bit less like shit, even though she was a stranger and my best bud had abandoned me on my birthday to get it on with his girl.
Yeah, I know: I was a whiny pussy.
Fuck, Caro—where are you? The question pulsed through my brain.
By 3am, I was feeling kind of out of it, and Stacey’s head had dropped onto my shoulder. The party was winding down so I decided to make it official. I cleared everyone the fuck out of the house, and thanked my lucky stars I’d brought my bedroll with me.
I swept a load of empty beer cans off of the couch onto the floor and kicked them out of the way. I laid out one of my blankets and went back outside to find Stacey. She was passed out under the tree, so I picked her up and carried her inside, placing her carefully on the couch. She was kind of cute and had long, brown hair, a bit like Caro.
I pulled the blanket over her, then left her to sleep it off. It was cooler outside, but it smelled a helluva lot better than Ches’s living room, so I spread my bedroll out under the tree and stared up at the night sky, wondering if my girl was looking at the same sprinkling of stars.
I woke up about four hours later feeling like some bastard had stuffed my head with broken glass. Yup, it was officially no longer my birthday and I was as hung over as fuck.
The first thing I did was to check my phone: no messages. What a freakin’ joke. I felt like throwing the useless piece of shit into the ocean. Instead, I shoved it in my jeans pocket and stumbled into the bathroom to take a long and much needed piss.
When I wandered back into the living room, Stacey hadn’t moved. There were a couple of other bodies lying around the room, and it smelled like ass. My stomach coiled and rolled so I headed for the kitchen and drank some water. A lot of water.
There was only one thing that cured a hangover like this. I dragged myself up the stairs and banged on Ches’s door.
I heard a grunt and a shuffling sound, then Ches’s voice.
“What the fuck?”
“Come on, man. We’re going surfing. Get your sorry ass down the stairs now!”
“Are you fucking kidding me, Hunter?”
“No, you miserable fucker! You owe me.”
He moaned and bitched some more, but I banged on the door again and heard Amy cursing under her breath. That got Ches’s ass moving. Yeah, I liked that girl.
My old surfboard and we
tsuit lived permanently in Ches’s van, but my board shorts were boxed up with a load of shit in a storage unit. Didn’t matter—I’d do without.
Ches stumbled down the stairs, his hair sticking out at all angles. One advantage of a buzz cut—there’s not enough hair to get that bed-head look.
“You look like crap,” I said cheerfully, feeling slightly superior—probably because I’d had time to drink some water.
He gave me the finger and muttered something that sounded like, “fuckin’ jarhead”.
“Come on, man. I’ll buy you breakfast later. You and Amy.”
He pulled a face. “Sure, if she’s still talking to me. Or you.”
“Hey! What did I do?” I asked, innocently.
“Disturbed her beauty sleep,” he shot back. “She’s an animal if she doesn’t get eight hours—and not in a good way.”
Ches drove us out to La Jolla. I felt a bit guilty when I saw him yawning his ass off; it also occurred to me that he was probably still over the blood–alcohol limit. But once we were paddling out to the lineup, the cold water revived us both, and he was over his sulk.
“Oh man, I haven’t done this for a while,” he said.
“Seriously? We used to surf every damn day.”
“Yeah, but I’ve got school, I work at the country club, and I’ve got Amy. Just don’t get the time anymore. But I’m glad you pulled me out here, brother.”
I grinned at him. “This wave’s got my name on it.”
A wall of green started lifting up behind me. I stroked through the water, and as soon as I felt the board begin to tip forwards, I leapt to my feet and rode that mother almost to the beach, carving along the surface and ripping through the wave.
For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could be me again; not a Marine, not Lance Corporal Hunter. Just me.
After about an hour, Ches called timeout and we caught a wave back into the beach.
“Man, that felt good. Now you owe me breakfast!”
“You want to go back and get Amy?”
“Nah, she hardly ever eats breakfast. It’s a girl thing.”
We dried off using worn out beach towels, and changed into our clothes by the side of the road, not caring if we were seen.
I checked my phone again. Still no messages. Ches glanced over at me.
“Anything?”
I shook my head and stared out of the window, trying to beat back the fear that was beginning to chew at me. Caro, where are you?
“You know, Seb…” Ches began quietly.
“Don’t,” I snapped at him. “She’ll be here. I know it.”
I heard him sigh out a deep breath, but he didn’t speak again.
In silence, Ches drove us to a Burger King and we loaded up on the sausage, egg and cheese biscuit meal. And drank coffee. A lot of coffee.
By the time we got back to his house, Amy was up and dressed, and whipping the remaining party goers into shape. She had two of the guys collecting cans and bottles, and another one emptying ashtrays. Stacey was in the kitchen washing glasses, looking tired but not too hung over.
“Hey! Where’d you guys go?” she called out. “You’ve missed all the cleaning!”
“Surfing,” I said, smiling my ass off. “Anyway, I’m using the it-was-my-birthday so I have a get-out-of-cleaning-free card,” I replied. “But I don’t think Ches has got an excuse—he’d love to help.”
Ches punched me on the shoulder.
“And now he’s broken my arm, so I can’t do anything,” I said, pretending to wince.
“Fucker,” he muttered, under his breath. Amy flung him a look and I winked at him.
Yeah, pussy whipped!
Then we heard a knock at the front door. I was the only one not doing something, so I offered to get it.
I wasn’t expecting the person standing in front of me.
“What the fuck do you want?” I snarled, my good mood vanishing like a virgin on prom night.
An amused face smiled back at me.
“Just wanted to see my son and heir on his birthday,” he sneered the words.
“Yeah? Well you’re about a day late, Dad.”
The bastard ignored my comment.
“Did that whore of yours turn up?”
All coherent thought rushed out of my brain and I swung a punch. Ches pulled me back just in time.
“Seb, no! That’s what he wants. Your dad’s an officer: it’ll be non-judicial punishment if you hit him. Walk away, man. Walk away.”
I really, really wanted to hit the bastard, to hurt him the way he’d hurt me over and over again. But I wasn’t going to let him ruin my career the way he’d ruined my life. I started to turn away, but then something in me wanted an answer.
“Why do you hate me so much, Dad?”
The words came out quietly, but I knew he’d heard them. He looked surprised, then his expression darkened.
“Because you’re a fucking pansy—a useless waste of space. You made your mother miserable and you’ve been nothing but a fucking deadweight around my neck from the moment you were born. You’ve been a disappointment from day one. Son.”
Yeah, about what I’d thought he’d say.
“Good,” I said. “Because a compliment from you would fuckin’ choke me.”
I turned my back and slammed the door in the fucker’s face.
I was breathing heavily, and I could feel cold sweat on my face. Then I realized the house was too quiet. Everyone was staring at me, pity and shock on their faces. I didn’t need that. I needed her. I needed Caro.
I scowled at my audience, then picked up my leather jacket and headed towards the door.
“Seb, man…”
“Leave it, Ches.”
I pushed past him roughly and slammed through the kitchen into the backyard.
My motorcycle was leaning next to the side of the house, covered by a waterproof tarp. I tore it off, listened to the roar of the engine as I started it up, then peeled out of there, going too fast.
For a few minutes, I opened up the throttle and let the speed and rush of adrenaline cleanse me of all the furious thoughts that seeing my father had allowed to flood through me.
I still couldn’t understand why he’d turned up today, why he hated me so badly. But did hate need a reason? I hated the bastard right back—except I had plenty of reasons for the way I felt.
After a while, I slowed the bike and made an illegal U-turn, before heading towards the military base where I used to live.
I pulled up outside a nondescript town house that I’d visited a few days ago, and cut the engine. I knew there wasn’t any point coming here again, but I couldn’t help myself.
I knocked on the door and eventually a man in sweats staggered to the door.
“You again! Look, I told you a couple a days ago, kid. No letters, no messages, and no brown-haired broads. Now leave me the fuck alone.”
He slammed the door before I could say a word.
My Caro used to live in that house. It was the place where she’d helped me and healed me and made love to me. But there was nothing left of her there now. Just memories.
The ache in my chest pulsed, and I couldn’t help rubbing the spot, just above where my dog tags rested on my chest.
I made two more stops: at the house where Ches’s mom and dad had lived before they got transferred to Germany, and the Vorstadts’ place—people who’d been Caro’s friends. It was the same story: no they hadn’t seen her; no they hadn’t heard from her; no, there were no letters or messages for me.
I felt like driving the damn motorcycle off of the nearest cliff.
Caro, where are you?
Eventually, I returned to Ches’s place. Where else could I go? I had three more days before I had to report to Camp Lejeune in North Carolina for the language training my CO had signed me up for.
Most of the people had cleared out: just Ches and Amy were still there. She disappeared discreetly as I slammed through the door.
Che
s didn’t say anything, he just handed me a beer and sat next to me on the couch.
I spent the next two days in a drunken haze. It helped. A bit. I even stopped looking at my phone. There were never any messages, so what was the point? Useless piece of junk.
On my last evening before shipping out to North Carolina, Ches persuaded me to leave the house to meet some of his buddies for a drink. I think he was just bored of being with a miserable bastard who’d refused to shift himself off of the couch for the last 48 hours. Amy had wisely chosen to leave me the fuck alone and let Ches deal with my sorry ass. I was just about sober enough to walk to the cab he had come pick us up.
The bar was crowded and noisy. It was just what I needed. If the music was loud enough, maybe it could pound out the thoughts scorching my brain.
Ches steered me to a table and I slumped into a chair. His friends stared at me warily, none of them dumb enough to actually speak to me. I was pretty certain every fiber of my body was yelling at everyone to stay the fuck away from me.
The waitress arrived with a bottle of whiskey and seven shot glasses. Yeah, she was eye-fucking me big time, but she was a blonde, and I so wasn’t interested.
Ches poured the drinks and spoke quietly.
“Look, I’m really sorry, man. You know, about Caro…”
Pain lanced through the numbness, punching a bigger hole into my chest. My lungs felt as if they’d shrivel from the burn of hearing her name.
“Ches,” I snarled. “Don’t ever mention that bitch’s name to me again.”
He nodded slowly. “Done.”
I didn’t understand. I couldn’t understand. I was so certain Caro would have been here, with me. She was a fucking journalist—how hard could it be for her to find me? Obviously it wasn’t: the only answer was that she didn’t want me. And I was such a fucking fool.
Suddenly, I felt angry. Three years I’d waited for her. Three fucking years.
I threw another shot of whiskey down my throat. When I opened my eyes, I nearly had a heart attack: a woman with long, brown hair was staring at me. For a split second, I thought it was Caro. Of course, it wasn’t—just a nice-looking, older chick. Her eyes were blue, not brown. Her eyes were the wrong color.