Collateral (13 page)

I sent four holidays boxes, stuffed

with books and board games, trail

mix, jerky, sardines, cigarettes, dried

fruit, and Fruit of the Looms. I figured

every soldier needs clean underwear.

I also put in a picture of me at the beach,

wearing a three-slivers-of-crochet bikini.

Thought about his buddies seeing it.

Took it back out again. Remembered

how he cherished my body those sweet,

long nights together. Tucked a different

photo of me in short shorts and a low-

cut tank top into a Christmas card with

Santa's sleigh swooping down over

the Tetons on front.
For my Wyoming

boy's eyes only,
I wrote inside.
This

California girl is lost without you here.

Christmas lacks luster this year. That's

as close to poetry as I can get until

you come back to me. Close your eyes

at 12:01 a.m. your time Christmas

morning. I'll be kissing you. Kiss me back.

It took some research, but just past

midnight, Fallujah time, I was in Lodi,

California, kissing Cole Gleason. I'm

sure it was just a delusion, but I swear

Cole Gleason was kissing me back.

It was the saddest Christmas ever.

Maintain sanity

in those times when a man

is called to war. The mirage

of invincibility, when

every

iota of logic embraces

the contrary, accommodates

minutiae, the day-to-day.

The wise ask no questions,

understand that a

soldier

battles fear with violence,

masks the omnipresent scent

of death with reminders

of living—cold tavern beer,

a hot pussy chaser. He

harbors

no illusion of love

for the whore. She is expendable,

unlike the woman who waits

at home, pretending

not to worry about such

secrets.

Cole Gleason

Worse than surprises. I hate

knowing them. Despise keeping

them, when every shred of me

believes the longer I stay silent,

the harder it's all coming down.

That's always been my experience.

Lucky me. I seem to be the secret

sniffer. It's like they appear to me,

materialize, in the flesh, from

the ether. I was the first one

to discover Dad's dalliances.

Both of them. The first time,

I happened to pick up the phone

and overhear him setting a time

to meet up with a coworker.

I was twelve, but mature enough

to understand that those murmurs

of affection meant a whole lot

more than wanting to get together

for a pleasant lunch. I never said

a word. What if I was wrong?

What if I wasn't? Did I want to

be responsible for the fight

that was sure to follow? What if

my mother and father broke up?

No sixth grader wanted that!

But that's almost what happened

a year later, when Mom found

out on her own. Meanwhile,

Dad had his cake and ate it, too.

Gross, if apropos. Me? I was anxious.

Angry. Confused. This wasn't the kind

of love they showed on the sitcoms

I watched, where married couples

worried about bills and jobs and where

to stow their kids for a few hours—

long enough to enjoy a little nookie

without getting busted. As far as I knew,

my parents never did
that
, so to learn

that one of them
did
, just not with

the other one, was eye-opening.

The second time was worse.

Mom was visiting a friend in the Bay

Area. I was supposed to stay at Darian's,

but she got sick in PE so I went home

after school. That time, I caught Dad

just-post-coitus, naked in the hall.

Two drinks in hand, he was on his way

back to the bedroom, where the other

not-Mom person waited for seconds.

He had his back to me, didn't know

I was there, when I heard her call,

Hurry. I've just about got myself ready.

I was sixteen. Driving. A woman

of the world, but I didn't know what

she meant. Dad yelled,
Hey, wait

for me!
But before he could make

his way back to help her out, I slammed

the door. Pretty sure he thought I was

Mom because he spun around,

giving me a more, um, expressive

view of my father than I ever, ever

wanted to see. I put my hand over

my eyes. “Jesus, Dad. What the hell?”

I had never sworn at a parent before.

Seemed like the right time to do it.

He didn't care at all about the swearing.

Ashley, baby, I . . . have no words.

I'm so sorry. Can you possibly keep

this to yourself? If you can, I swear . . .

I waited for the bribe. New car? Cash?

Not even.
I'll never do it again.

I kept quiet. Never said a word.

I figured it would all work itself out

sooner or later, and it did. The woman—

a girl, really, only a few years older

than I—decided she was in love with Dad

and confronted Mom at the grocery store.

Not a pretty scene. I know, because

I was there. The one that came after,

at home, was significantly worse.

In the meantime, I was a wreck. Felt

disloyal, which I was, and all my silence

did was buy Dad a few more weeks and

a couple more rolls in the hay. He was not

in love with her. Not about to walk away

from his family, and Mom wasn't about

to make him go.
What for? All men

are morally bankrupt. The next one

wouldn't be any better. At least this

one is keeping us well. Anyway, “for

better or worse.” The priest didn't give

me a rating system.
She might have felt

differently had she known Dad brought

his girlfriend into our home. Their bed.

But I never told. Mom never found out.

This Darian subterfuge I find myself

mired in. She asked me not to say

anything to Cole, who still keeps

in touch with Spencer. Why am I

always appointed secret-keeper?

She was tricky about it, too. Called

and said she had something for me

to take to Hawaii, and would I meet

her for dinner tonight. Curiosity

nailed me. So here I am, in a really

nice Thai place, sitting across the table

from Darian and Kenny. And, damn

it all to hell, I like him a lot, as much

as I'm trying not to. He isn't quite

old enough to be her father, and for

a guy his age, he's not only great looking,

he's well preserved. The only external

signs of his four-plus decades are a few

silver streaks weaving his thick, blond

hair and a faint network of lines etching

the corners of his eyes. But only when

he smiles. Which is most of the time,

and mostly at Darian, whom he clearly

cares about. In fact, I'd say he's gaga.

He sits very close to her, some small

part of him always touching her,

laughs at every semiwitty thing

she says, but not in a gratuitous way.

Her assessment of him was spot-on,

too. He wears an air of quiet intelligence,

no hint of superciliousness or egotism.

More Cole than Spence, except nothing

military about him at all, despite

his close ties to the Air Force.

Beyond his (ex?)wife, the Intel officer,

Kenny is an aerospace engineer.

He's taking my lukewarm grilling

in stride. “Tell me about your daughter.

How does she feel about the two

of you?” Does she even know?

Sabrina is fifteen. Everything's

drama,
he says.
But it would be,

even if everything were perfect,

and to tell you the truth, it never

has been. Not since she was born.

Tara never really wanted a baby,

to have her feet so firmly planted

in regular civilian life. I thought

things would be different when Sabrina

came along. But changing diapers

and mixing formula only made Tara

more determined to go back out

into the field. That's where her heart

is. Sabrina only knows her mother

in an extremely peripheral way.

And she's a little overprotective of me.

“So, are you saying she resents

having Darian in her—your life?”

I'm not sure “resents” is the right

word. She's not used to having

my attention turned elsewhere.

I think she likes Darian just fine.

At least she knows about her. “But

she's not happy about the relationship.”

Not especially. But she'll get used

to the idea.
He pauses long enough

to give Dar a soft kiss on the cheek.

If I have my way, they'll see each

other every day before too long.

They are the two most important

people in my life. I love them both

very much.
He is so matter-of-fact,

I believe he believes every word.

“So, you and your wife are definitely

getting divorced? And Sabrina is okay

with that?” Okay, that was blunt.

So is his answer.
Tara is in the field.

We haven't had the chance to discuss

the details, but we will as soon

as she comes back. Until then, I can't

really talk about it with Sabrina.

But she'll be fine. She . . .

You know what Sabrina told me?

interrupts Dar, who up until now

has remained completely mum.

She said her mother has never been

there for her, that her father raised

her. And that she wouldn't care one

way or another if her mother died

because who mourns for a stranger?

Fifteen, going on fifty. How sad,

if she actually feels that way. My mom

was not a shining example of motherhood,

but she was always there for me. And if

Kenny means everything he's said,

divorce is preferable to treading time

in a marriage that has bled out

of love. I think that, feeling sorry as hell

that Darian's marriage also seems to be

mortally wounded. Bleeding out.

Kenny for the wounding. Pretty sure

that happened before he came along.

And if Darian had to choose someone

to stitch her up, I guess I'm glad this

is the guy. Not sure she needs a teenage

“daughter” who's needy and likely to

interfere, but it's not my call. Think

I'll change the subject. “So, did you

ever work on the space shuttles?”

He shakes his head.
But the Spaceport,

yes. And some advanced extraterrestrial

weaponry systems
 . . . . He goes on to talk

about this truly fascinating stuff, obviously

proud of his contributions. A lot of it

is mind-boggling, so I don't try to

absorb the details. The overall picture

is crazy enough, and this is all unclassified.

Hate to think about what they're hiding.

The food is excellent, the company

pretty good, too. I have to admit

Kenny brings out the best in my best

friend. That, I like. When he excuses

himself to use the restroom, I know

she'll ask, so I straight out admit, “Okay.

I like him. Just, please be careful. I don't

want to see you get hurt. Promise you'll be

very sure before making any huge moves.”

She smiles, but not in the “I told

you so” way I expected.
I promise.

But I want you to promise me

you won't say anything to Cole.

How can I not tell Cole? We don't

keep things from each other. “Why

not? I mean, if you've already made

your decision to break up with Spence.

You have made that decision, right?”

She glances toward the bathroom.

Gives a weak nod.
But I'm not sure

how to tell Spence. He's supposed

to come home pretty soon, and . . .

Her eyes tell me Kenny is headed

in this direction. “And what, Dar?”

Her voice falls to a whisper.

And I'm scared. Really scared.

Kenny drops into the seat next

to Darian.
I'm not interrupting