A Missing Peace (15 page)

“So they admitted to killing your dad?”

“My uncle said the diplomat said the military could neither confirm nor deny my story, but to understand silence was being exchanged for our visas.”

“This is higher than Collins. I'm gonna be sick.”

I shook my head. “I don't think so. Uncle Yachov is my dad's brother, and I was enraged we weren't looking for justice, but whoever helped him on the U.S. side didn't know which unit in Baghdad did this, and I couldn't help. They were a bunch of bald guys in cammies to me.”

“You think they're still looking for you?”

“I don't know, but I don't want to find out. If no one knows where I am, they can't tell anyone,” I said as we pulled into his driveway.

Caleb grunted as he opened the passenger side door, a reminder that he shouldn't have done this.

“Wait,” I said.

I walked around to the passenger side of the old jeep to help Caleb out. He draped his arms over my shoulders, and once he was out of the car, he didn't move. Instead, his arms tightened around me. “M, thank you for everything.” The words came out more like a question than a statement. They were clipped at the end like something should follow. This was so unlike Caleb. I was always the one that had a problem saying what I needed to say.

“But?” I prompted.

“Don't ever attack some guy three times your size with a tire iron, especially not to help me. And try not to attract any terrorists or snipers. You're going to get yourself killed.”

“I'll be okay.” I laughed.

“Be careful, please?” Before I could answer, his lips were on mine. That was persuasive.

Every time I kissed him it felt like the first time.

The next day, I stood in the lunch line distractedly listening to Morgan ramble about some indie rock band she'd heard in Austin, not paying attention to much of anything. Morgan already had to nudge me forward with the line twice. I was too worried to think about anything but Caleb.

He'd talked about bashing Collins' head in all night. I didn't care about Collins or his head. As far as I was concerned, Collins deserved the death penalty. A punishment he would never get here, because wearing a uniform meant anything you did was all right and A-rabs deserved to die. But Caleb was in no condition to be picking fights.

“Mirriam! Are you listening to me? The line is moving again.” Morgan sounded annoyed, but her voice brought me back to the present.

“I'm sorry.” I closed the gap of empty space between Farrah and me in the line.

Farrah said something about prom a little too loud, but I didn't catch what. I was trying to listen to Morgan talk about her rock guys. Lacey giggled at Farrah and said, “You think Caleb is going to win his bet?” At the mention of his name, they had my attention. I got quiet and caught Morgan's eyes. She kept talking, but her eyes followed me as I turned my head to Kailee's minions in front of us.

“Probably. I kind of feel sorry for that girl,” Farrah answered.

“What girl?” I asked, indifferent about interrupting their conversation.

Farrah laughed. “The girl Caleb is taking to prom.”

“Caleb isn't going to prom.” At least, I didn't think so. He hadn't asked me, and I didn't expect him to. He knew I wasn't allowed to date, and I didn't think he would take someone else. Not to mention, he could barely walk. There was no way he could dance.

“Whatever,” she said and laughed.

I shook my head. Before the accident, Caleb was very popular. After all, the homecoming queen was chasing him. “Why would you feel sorry for the girl Caleb took to prom?”

“He's doing it to win twelve hundred dollars from Josh Hutto, and the poor dumb girl doesn't know it.”

Tears threatened behind my eyelids, and Morgan seemed to know it. “You look thirsty. Drink your water,” she said.

I had no idea what that meant, but I put my Aquafina bottle to my mouth and tried not to think about it. My stomach sunk. From the day I'd arrived, it was clear to me I wasn't welcome here. I thought back to the way Caleb had volunteered to be my government partner and wondered if there was any truth to it. If that was why he'd done it.

The line moved ahead again, and now I was distracted by new fears. This time Morgan put her hand on my back sympathetically and said, “The line's moving.”

The guy behind us called out, “Go, raghead.”

Morgan's forehead creased and she whipped around to snap at him, but before she or I could say anything, Kailee Hill who was passing him said, “She's not Muslim, loser.”

That was more unsettling than anything. Two people knew I wasn't Muslim. Morgan and Kailee hadn't talked since the sixth grade, when Kailee invented Morgan's nickname, Hooker Hose, because of the fishnet pantyhose she always wore. The only other person who knew I wasn't Muslim hadn't been to school since I told him. Was Caleb still talking to Kailee?

She cut in front of us to take her place beside her minions. She didn't even say hello as she slipped in front of us, so why was she defending me—assuming that was what she was doing.

Kailee told Farrah, “I got your text about sharing a limo for prom, but I'm not going.”

Farrah's mouth gaped. Lacey gasped. Morgan and I were shocked, too. Prom would be the perfect place to make a production of herself, and that was Kailee's thing.

“My new boyfriend doesn't go here.”

“So? Go to both proms. You're going to be prom queen. You can't not go,” Farrah urged.

Kailee shrugged. “He's in college.”

“You can make him go,” Lacey said.

Kailee laughed. “I wish, but he's usually busy on weekends.”

If she had a new boyfriend, maybe Caleb wasn't still talking to her, but then how did she know I wasn't Muslim?

At the privacy of our ‘losers only' table, I asked Morgan, “Did you hear what they were saying?”

“Part of it.”

“Do you know about it? Does Caleb have some kind of bet on me?”

“You know I would be the last person those people would tell, but I haven't heard anything. I really don't think so. He likes you. He wouldn't have attacked Kailee on Facebook if he didn't.”

Caleb

I limped into my physical therapist's office. Walking across the street and using the same muscles I used to get to Gade's door was too much. My whole body leaned today. A gust of wind would've knocked me over, and it hurt like hell.

Scott, my therapist looked up from his chair when I walked in. “You've been walking around more. Good for you. I hope you're not overdoing it, though.”

I shrugged. I would've liked to say no. I only went across the street, but the screams of my aching body—every muscle in my body—told another story.

I was unable to do most of my exercises with Scott because of the exertion of the past day. My whole body nagged every time I thought about moving. When it was apparent today's session would be a waste, Scott shook his head.

“Caleb, when I told you to start using your legs more, I didn't mean to go into overkill. I don't want you spending all day, every day on the couch, but you can't try to pick up where you were before the accident. Start out with trying to walk to your mailbox. That's enough. If you can do that for a couple of days, add three steps until you're walking to the end of your street. Little things. What did you do this weekend?”

I shrugged. “I walked across the street.”

“And back?”

I nodded.

“That's too far.”

Silence. I was being lectured for doing something that was a normal part of life for most people. That had been a normal part of life for me until a few weeks ago. What did you say to that?

Scott went to his supply closet and took out a cane. “Use this. You're putting too much strain on the left side of your body, because you're trying not to carry any weight on the right side. You can use my phone to call your ride if you need to.”

“When am I going to be able to drive again?”

“When you can feel your leg, and you quit taking the pain pills, which I don't recommend.”

I sighed. “It's okay. I have my phone.”
And I have no intention of going home.

Mom wasn't expecting me to be done with therapy for at least another hour. I was already on base, and there was someone I needed to talk to. For someone in my condition, it was a long walk, but a couple of weeks ago it wasn't.

My body ached, but I had the cane and the Oxycontin. I pulled the bottle out of my pocket, swallowed two pills, shoved the bottle back in, and prepared to grit my teeth and bear through it. I knew it would take twenty minutes for the pills to kick in, and by then I'd be at his office, but knowing relief was coming helped.

Clasping the cane, I walked to Collins' office.

“May I help you?” his receptionist asked.

“I need to see Collins.”

“He's busy this afternoon.”

Bullshit. My dad had been his responsibility. When someone under your command died, you made time for their family. Even if you hadn't ordered them dead, and in this case…

It wasn't her fault. She didn't know what was going through my mind, or what Collins had done, but I was ready to throw this woman across the room.

I was still standing at the counter when Collins happened out of his office. He must not have noticed the hard expression on my face, because he smiled at me. “Hi, Caleb.” He said like it was nothing. Like he had no guilt, or he hadn't ordered my dad dead. Like I was some casual acquaintance he passed by. His tone would change before I left. I would make sure of it.

“I need to talk to you.” I made no attempt to hide the anger in my voice.

“Sure. Is here okay? Or do you want to go to my office?”

I shrugged. “You'll probably prefer we go to your office.”

The smile slid off Collins' face, but he didn't look taken aback or angry, only confused.

Once we were inside his office, Collins shut the door. “What's this about, Caleb?”

“You killed my dad.”

He laughed. “They must have given you something really strong for your leg. You're making a fool out of yourself, and I quite frankly don't have time for this. You should go.”

“Is that what you tell the kids of all the guys that die under your command?”

Collins rocked back in his chair, pressing his back against it. “I'm sorry your father died. It's a war zone. It's a calculated risk. He knew that. He did it for you.”

“I heard he did it for a girl.”

Collins brows went up, and the age lines in his forehead furrowed. Again, his expression was confused. I wasn't intimidating him at all. “Are you accusing your father of having an affair?” Collins asked.

Oh my God. I wanted to bash his head in. “No! I said a girl, not a woman. A kid. I heard he died for a kid.”

Collins' mouth dropped open, and his eyes grew wide. “Where did you hear that?” His voice was hushed but menacing. “You know you can't believe every rumor that floats around the base.”

“The guy who fired the kill shot. I think he's feeling guilty.”
Yeah right. If he felt guilty, he would have told the truth to begin with.

“Well, that would be pretty hard, since it was one of those damned ragheads and we shot the bastard before it was done.”

“One of your men say they shot him for acting as a human shield to a teenage girl.”

Collins leaned over his desk. “Kid, if you're looking for friendly fire money, that didn't happen on my watch. Your mom works for the base. You might not want to go digging too far. I heard physical therapy, even on base, adds up these days.”

“Are you threatening my mom? Because I think people will have more sympathy for the widow of a fallen soldier than some half-ass officer.”

“Oh, no, no, Caleb. If this gets out, there will be no sympathy. You'll just be the son of a dead guy deranged by grief. No one will ever believe it.”

Interesting. He said, “no one will believe” not “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, they'll believe it. I have a drunk confession in my voicemail.”

Collins' fist collided into his desk, and he towered over it.

“From who?”

“The shooter.”

“Miller, I'm warnin' you. Stay away from this. No good is gonna come from it. You're just gonna get some poor SOB with PTSD thrown in the brigs. A terrorist shot your dad. If you want to blame someone, blame the ragheads.”

I shrugged and stood. “Well, I guess the only thing to do is let the press have it and see who they believe. The shooter or his commander.” I struggled to my feet and put my hand on the doorknob. “I never deleted the message.” The whole thing was a load of crap, but Collins didn't know that, and I had to make him think I had leverage. He'd threatened my mom. I waived the phone in front of his face. He lunged for it, but I had already cracked the door open, so I let the phone fall. It slid across the carpet. I dropped to the ground, moaning. The pain was real. The fallen phone just a ploy.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself up. I'd been on my legs too long again today. The Oxycontin wasn't helping. When I let myself out of the door with Collins on my tail, the receptionist handed me the phone.

“You poor thang. You dropped this when you fell.” I knew that would happen.

“Thank you.” I nodded to the receptionist. I looked over my shoulder to Collins and smiled, waiving the phone at him. “Have a good night, Captain. Don't tell my mom we talked. She'd have a fit.”

He plastered a fake smirk on his face, but I could tell by his eyes he wanted to kill me. Too bad he couldn't.

I texted my mom that I went with Scott for a walk as part of therapy today, so she picked me up closer to Collins' office than the rehab center. As I waited for her, I wondered why I went there. What was I hoping to gain from this? I didn't really care about friendly fire money. True, Mom could use it, and Mirriam wanted me to go to college, but that didn't matter to me. Was I looking for an apology? That would be stupid. It wouldn't bring my dad back. Then I realized I knew what I wanted. I wanted Collins to admit it—to tell the truth and face the consequences. I wanted Collins court-martialed. Justice.