Marrying Daisy Bellamy (11 page)

Julian knew Ramos would never put the team in jeopardy. Moreover, he surely knew there was no way the two of them could make it safely away. Francisco had sacrificed himself, stalling for time, no doubt hoping Julian
would disappear before the armed patrol went looking for him. He weighed his incredibly shitty options. He could surrender alongside Ramos and hope they wouldn't both be executed. He could come out shooting, one guy against four submachine guns. Or he could make a run for it. He had about three seconds to decide.

He grabbed his gear and dove through the hole in the fence. Darkness closed around him, and he had to rely on his GPS. Judging by the length of time he'd been running uphill, he was a mile away from the compound. Still running, he radioed the base.

“Just get to the chopper,” de Soto ordered. “Just get there.”

He headed west, knowing the team waited near the beach. Though it was too dark to see, he could hear the chopper. His beacon indicated he was only a couple hundred meters away.

His relief was short-lived. Someone else had found the bird, too. Thanks to the bridge, four Humvees and a couple of Blazers with guns mounted on the back were speeding along the beach. The chopper's blades whirled, gathering momentum. Julian raced ahead of the armed trucks. He kept his head down as he darted in and out of the vehicles' headlamps. A hail of small arms fire chased him, plowing up the grainy sand. He felt the wind of the chopper blades, flinging more sand against his goggles and stinging his face.

He piled into the chopper.

“Ramos?” asked Sergio.

“Not coming,” Julian yelled.

The chopper lifted as the last boot left the ground. The firing continued, riddling the hull, but they were away, the bird sweeping up and out over the water. Except for Ramos, the team was intact—Rusty and Doc, Truesdale,
Simon and José, and a few more guys he'd trained with from the Colombian militia. They'd have to come back undercover for Ramos.

The airframe vibrated and shuddered, oil spurting from somewhere. Julian heard a larger noise, a hollow thump so deep it reverberated in the belly—a rocket?

Then he saw it, a slender deadly rod crowned by a teardrop-shaped warhead, lying on the deck. “Grenade!” he yelled, grabbing the thing. His mind shut down, his conscious will receded. He simply acted. In a single swift movement, he scooped up the RPG and lunged for the hatch, hurling it out of the chopper.

The thing detonated in midair. The explosion rocked the bird like a child's toy. At the edge of the hatch, Julian lost his grip. He was flung like a stone from a sling. Beneath him, he felt nothing but sky.

D
aisy gazed at herself in the mirror of the bridal salon. “This is it, then,” she said, looking at her mother and then at Sonnet. They had both accompanied her to the final dress fitting. “This is the dress I'm getting married in.”

Sonnet's eyes shone as she admired the gown. “You look amazing.”

Daisy turned to study her reflection again. The dress she'd chosen was a froth of ivory tulle and antique lace, the sort she'd always secretly dreamed of wearing.

“It's lovely,” said her mother. “Sweetheart, you're the prettiest bride I've ever seen.”

“Spoken like a true mom.” For a moment, she turned thoughtful, picturing her mother getting ready for her own wedding, long ago, to Daisy's father, Greg Bellamy. Sophie had been even younger than Daisy was now. She'd worn a designer gown, which she still had in storage. A few months ago, she'd offered it to Daisy. The gown was still beautiful and it fit, but it hadn't felt quite right. Daisy had not wanted to wear a dress from a
marriage that hadn't worked out. Her mother understood completely. Instead, she'd urged Daisy to find her own perfect dress.

Yolanda Martinez, the shop owner, had done the alterations herself. The crystal beaded bodice hugged the torso, sweeping up to a glittering sweetheart neckline. Now Daisy turned to her. “The fit is perfect. I don't know how you do it.”

Yolanda stood back, fluffing the skirt. “You chose well. And you didn't do that foolish bride thing of going on a crash diet at the last minute and getting too skinny. I'm glad you like the alterations.”

A lot of the brides Daisy had photographed had bought their dresses here. Yolanda had a keen eye for fashion. She was a petite, industrious Latina woman who had opened the bridal shop in Avalon a couple of years before. She'd moved up from Texas so her son could be near his father, Bo Crutcher, who pitched for the Yankees. A single mother like Daisy, Yolanda was hardworking and determined to make good choices for her son. Daisy recognized a deep loneliness in Yolanda, though, because she used to feel that way too, all the time. The late nights, working alone, the determined cheerfulness and putting on a brave face—these were all too familiar to Daisy. She was incredibly grateful her life was about to change.

“Are you going to invite a doctor to the wedding?” Sonnet asked, eyeing her from head to toe.

“My stepfather's a vet. Why do you ask?”

“Because Julian's going to die when he sees you in this. He will absolutely die, so I figure he'll need CPR.”

“Yeah? You think he'll like it?”

“He's so smitten with you that you could probably
wear a gunnysack. But this dress…it's going to knock him flat. Julian's going to die when he sees you, completely die,” Sonnet repeated.

Daisy smiled, closed her eyes and pictured Julian waiting at the altar, with his perfect military posture and that expression in his eyes…. There was nothing so handsome as an officer in full dress uniform on his wedding day. Sometimes when she thought of the upcoming day, she got dizzy. “He might not be the only one who'll keel over from happiness.”

“Nobody's gonna die,” Yolanda said. “And speaking of Julian, I have something to give you from him.” She crowned Daisy with a veil held by silver combs. The gossamer lace fluttered with ghostly lightness over her shoulders. “Your
novio
paid me a visit before he left. He wanted to surprise you.”

Daisy's heart melted. “I can't believe he did this.”

“He is becoming one of my favorite grooms. You must be proud that he is so fluent in Spanish.”

“That's so sweet of him,” said Daisy's mom.

Daisy touched the edges of the veil. “I never thought about wearing one of these.”

“Do you like it?” her mother asked.

“Most brides wear a veil, don't they?” Daisy mused.

“Is this how you want to look on your wedding day?” Sonnet asked.

“What do you think, Mom?” asked Daisy. She noticed her mother's stricken face in the mirror. “
Mom
. Not again.”

“Sorry,” said Sophie, dabbing at her eyes. “I'm having a moment.” She stood behind Daisy and smoothed down the veil. “You look so lovely, I can't even stand it.”

“Mom,” said Daisy. “Don't start with the crying, or we'll never get done with this fitting.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sonnet said, her voice thick with emotion. “We're so happy for you, Daisy.”

In spite of herself, Daisy felt the thick heat of tears gathering in her throat. She was so lucky to have people in her life who wanted nothing more than to see her happy. “I never thought I'd get to be the bride, you know. I figured I'd missed the bride boat. But now here I am, and I can't believe this is all happening to me. I'm so happy, sometimes I'm almost scared.”

“It's too late to change your mind now,” Sophie said. “The dress is picked out, and the alterations are done. Oh, and it's paid for.”

“Really? Mom—”

“I want to, okay?”

“Totally okay. Thank you.” Her heart sped up; as the wedding day approached, things seemed more and more real. The plans were well underway. There would be a ceremony and reception at Camp Kioga, the place where their love had begun. All in all, it was a relentlessly traditional plan, but for some reason, Daisy found herself clinging to convention. She wanted to honor the occasion in every possible way—a lakeside ceremony, the solemn gathering of family and friends, the cake from Sky River Bakery, the toasts—all of them. For some reason, sticking to the tried and true seemed to add weight to the occasion.

“I'll be right back,” Yolanda said. “I need to find the right garment bag for that dress.” She headed through a curtained doorway.

Daisy raised herself up on tiptoe to gauge the heel height of her shoes. She lifted the hair off the back of her neck to simulate an updo. She looked at Sonnet and then her mother, and she was filled with a feeling of buoyant possibility.

I cannot wait, Julian, she silently exulted. I cannot wait to be your wife.

Through the shop window, she could see the occasional passerby pause to peek inside. People—even perfect strangers—always wanted to catch a glimpse of a bride. In the course of her work, she'd observed this over the years. It was rare, like seeing a shooting star or a four leaf clover. It made people feel lucky, privileged.

She spotted a familiar face outside and waved. “There's Olivia,” she said, motioning her cousin to come inside. “And Connor.”

The two of them entered the shop and hurried toward Daisy.

“Hey there, future brother-in-law,” she said to Connor. “I assume you know you're sworn to secrecy. This is the most top-secret dress ever made, get it?”

“Daisy, listen.” Olivia's voice wavered with a curious intensity Daisy didn't recognize. “We thought we'd find you here. I called Logan.”

“Did something happen to Charlie?” Daisy asked.

“No,” Olivia said quickly, “nothing like that.” She looked so solemn, her eyes red and damp. This dress must really be something.

“Logan said we'd find you here.” Olivia's knuckles were white as she gripped her handbag.

So far, Logan was being pretty great about everything, keeping Charlie when Daisy had things like dress fittings and cake tastings. Now, seeing her cousin's face, she said, “I'm sorry I didn't call you for the final fitting. I thought you'd be busy.”

“Daisy.” Connor cleared his throat. He was emotional, too, which touched her heart. She was going to love being his sister-in-law.

“You like?” she asked, twirling on tiptoe. “You think Julian will like it?”

“Daisy.”
Her mother's voice, low and taut, brought her up short. And then her mom stepped up beside her on the dais in front of the multifaceted mirror and put her arms around Daisy. The physical sensation of her mother's embrace enveloped her.

No
. Daisy's mind seized on the thought. She didn't have any idea what she was saying no to, but the denial blasted through her, as powerful and irrational as a sudden storm.
No
.

“What is going on?” her mom asked Connor, still holding on.

More tears welled in his eyes. “You should sit, Daisy.”

And that was when she knew. There was a strange, detached moment when she observed herself as if from a distance, as though this were happening to someone else. Stepping back from her mom's arms, she stood apart on the dais, still in view of the mirror.

She saw her mother with a look in her eyes Daisy had never seen before. And Sonnet, sinking to the floor and drawing her knees up to her chest, shaking her head in vigorous, futile denial.

Daisy saw herself, resplendent in the gorgeous gown, at least six of her in the multi-paneled mirror. The bride, who had looked so flushed and pretty a moment ago, was now a complete stranger, white-faced, eyes haunted by a horror she could not escape. Which Daisy was the real one? They were all doing the same thing—hand to heart, mouth open in a silent cry of anguish so deep it didn't even have a voice.

N
umbness enveloped Daisy like the gauzy layers of a cocoon. She could feel her family and friends swirling around her, treating her like the victim of a terrible accident. Her mother took her home, and Daisy asked for some time alone. She sobbed until she was sick, her stomach sore as if she'd done a thousand sit-ups. She placed a cold washcloth over her swollen eyes and cheeks, not wanting to worry Charlie by looking like a wreck.

When Logan brought Charlie home, he touched her arm lightly, as if she might break. “You going to be okay?” he asked in a low voice.

No, she thought. Never. Then she focused on Charlie, taking his hand and managing to nod to Logan.

“Let me know if you need anything.”

She tried not to squeeze Charlie's hand too hard. “I have what I need.”

After Logan took off, she sat down with her little boy, gathering him into her lap.

“Why are you sad?” he asked. Her son had grown
so much these past months. No longer a baby, he was a talkative little boy. In a way, it made things even harder, because he was going to understand the horror and the hurt.

“I need to tell you something. It's about Julian.”

“Daddy-boy's on a mission. It's a secret.”

“That's right,” she said.

“He'll be back when the leaves change.”

“Yes.” She fumbled through an explanation, trying to speak to Charlie in terms he could understand. “It's what he promised. But…something happened, Charlie, honey. His team was in a helicopter over the ocean, and it crashed.” The details were sparse but chilling. Julian had gone down with a disabled transport helicopter, and the site of the crash, offshore, was deemed inaccessible and the aircraft unrecoverable. A ten-kilometer exclusion zone had been demarcated around the spot where the downed chopper was last recorded. Underwater robots, sent by a French oil company, had emerged from the depths with blurred photos that might be the wreckage of the helicopter fifty meters down, in a trench.

Connor had tried to get more details but had been told no covert actions or activities would be discussed. No bodies would ever be brought home. There was nothing to mourn but the memories.

“He's not coming back after all,” she told Charlie, amazed she could get the words out.

“When is after all?”

“I mean he's never coming back. Do you know what ‘never' means?”

“When is never?”

“Look, I need you to know. We're not going to see Julian again. That's why I'm sad.”

“No more Daddy-boy?”

“That's right. No more Daddy-boy.”

His face darkened. “I want him. I want to see him.”

“Ah, baby.” Tears boiled up again, searing her face. “We all want that, but we can't.”

“Why can't we?”

“Because he's dead.” It ripped at her heart to say it aloud.

“Like a dead bug?” He had found some desiccated bugs on his windowsill, only this morning. This morning, when she'd awakened full of excitement about the dress fitting, feeling one step closer to being Julian's bride.

“Um…” Oh, God. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Kind of like that.”

He offered her an odd little smile. “That's silly.”

“Isn't it, though?”

“He's going to jump off the dock with me.”

“You'll have to jump with someone else.”

“I want to jump with Daddy-boy.”

So do I, she thought. So do I.

 

She dreamed of Julian every night, so that all she wanted to do was sleep. She couldn't wait for bedtime because that was when she got to see him again, in her dreams. Her doctor and military family support group, her friends and family were all there for her, but mostly she wanted—needed—to retreat into the shadow world of sleep, where Julian was alive and vibrant, laughing and touching her, whispering secrets into her ear. Waking up was torture, because it forced her to face the bleak reality of a future without Julian.

She dragged herself through each day, struggling to find a smile or soft word for the sake of Charlie. If not for her son, she would have drowned in grief; at least
he helped her tread water. People said the pain would fade, that she would find the joy in life again one day, but she couldn't imagine how to do that. She hadn't had enough time with Julian. The dreams meant they weren't done with their relationship. They would never be done, because love didn't die, did it? It couldn't be turned off like a light switch. Yet without Julian, she didn't know what to do with that love, so it froze into one huge ball of pain that wouldn't let her go.

 

Lieutenant Tanesha Sayers came to Daisy's house with a letter from Julian. Sayers talked about being in ROTC with him. Daisy felt a wild surge of envy. Lieutenant Sayers had spent more time with Julian than Daisy had. Yet she was grateful for every crumb she could learn about Julian, and so she listened and wept.

“I'll tell you something you already know,” Sayers said as she was leaving. “He was the best of all of us. I'm…sorry, I'm destroyed. We all are.”

After Sayers left, Daisy opened the letter with shaking hands.

 

My beautiful, beautiful Daisy, I'm sorry you're reading this. It feels surreal to be writing these words, because it means I'm gone. How does somebody who's gone talk to somebody who's still around? I'm going to make this short because it's pretty pointless. Of course, I'm coming back to you. However, they're making us do all this stuff. It's part of the drill. So here goes, the only true thing I can think of in all the chaos of getting ready to leave—Love never dies. I know, because of my dad. Even though he passed away, he is still with me, he still loves me. I carry him in my heart, every day. And if you're reading this, know that
I'm with you. I always will be. You can go ahead with your life and do great things. Love other people, make art, watch Charlie grow, laugh and think of me—but not too much. Don't let this make you sad every day. Be happy for the time we had. Take care. I will always love you, wherever I am, Julian.

 

“Mom! Help, Mom!”

Charlie's cry from the backyard startled Daisy into action. Without really thinking about it, she jumped up from the sofa, where she'd been sitting, staring at nothing, and raced out back to find her little boy.

“I'm stuck,” he called from the gnarled apple tree against the back fence. “I can't get down.”

“Oh, Charlie. What are you doing up there? You could break your neck.” She bit her lip, regretting the choice of words.

“I climbed up all by myself.”

“Then you can climb down.” She positioned herself under him. “Slide your foot until you feel that branch.”

“I can't see it. I can't look down.”

“Just slide your foot, and you'll feel it. Trust me, I won't steer you wrong. Why did you climb up so high, anyway?”

“Grammy Jane said Daddy-boy's in heaven,” Charlie explained as she carefully guided him back to earth, branch by branch. “I wanted to get a closer look.”

The simple, childlike statement brought a fresh wave of grief sweeping over her, and she staggered a little. “I don't think it works that way, kiddo.”

“How does it work?”

“I don't know,” she said, unable to pretty it up for him. “I have no idea, because this is all so new. Tell you what,
maybe we'll help each other figure out how to be closer to Julian.”

When she could finally reach Charlie, she grabbed him around the waist and lowered him to the ground. “Oof, you're getting so big.” She sank down to the grass and kept her arms around his warm, leaf-scented form. She held on tight because she was shaking, clinging to her son as if he was the one thing keeping her anchored to earth.

 

A hand-lettered cardboard sign hung on the doorknob of the community center: Grief Group. Daisy stared at it for a moment, then resolutely headed inside, awkwardly joining a dozen or so attendees her grandparents' age. They gave her tea and cookies and a stick-on name tag, and she bit her tongue to keep from saying, “I'm in the wrong place.”

As she turned to gaze yearningly at the exit door, she spotted Blythe, the girl who had been widowed at the age of nineteen. Blythe took one look at Daisy and drew her into a hug. “I remember you from the family meeting—last spring, wasn't it? We were all so happy and excited.”

Daisy nodded, then managed to stumble through an explanation.

“I can't tell you any words you haven't already heard,” Blythe said. “Just know that you'll get through this. It doesn't seem like you ever will, but things will get better. You won't ever be the same as you were when he was alive, but…you'll be okay. Life will be good again, I promise. I still have my moments, but I survived, and so will you.”

“I thought you moved on and fell in love again,” Daisy said. She tried to imagine doing that. Impossible. Julian
was so deeply embedded in her heart, there was no room for anything else.

“True,” Blythe said, “I
am
in love again, but a part of me will always grieve for my first husband. You never really get over a loss like that. You have to live your life and find the joy.”

“I have no idea how to start.” Daisy tried to find a shred of inner resolution. “For my son's sake, I have to try.”

“It won't happen overnight. Here's a bit of unsolicited advice. Getting over this kind of blow is not like having a flesh wound where you stick on a Band-Aid and wait for it to scab over. It's more like you were pulled mangled from a wreck. It's going to take hard work, therapy, medication, whatever works to get you back to yourself. Mostly, it will take time. Only time.”

 

On the morning of the memorial service, Daisy stood in front of her closet, completely catatonic at the idea of choosing something to wear.

“Hey,” said Sonnet, who had come up from the city for the service. “Can I help with something?”

“What the hell do you wear to bury an empty coffin?” Daisy asked dully.

“Anything you damn well please.”

“You're supposed to wear black for a funeral, right? I've got plenty of black…”

“Here.” Sonnet grabbed the yellow-and-white sundress Daisy had worn at Julian's commissioning ceremony. “I know it's out of season, but wear this.”

“To a memorial?” She swallowed hard. He'd loved that dress. She could still picture the expression that had lit his face when he'd seen her in it. The memory lashed
across her heart. “All right. But Sonnet, I'm a wreck. I'm going to fall apart.”

“So fall apart. People will understand.”

“Charlie?”

“It won't mess with his head to see you fall apart…so long as he sees you heal.”

“That's just it. I won't. I can't ever get past this.”

“It seems like that now. I won't pretend I know what you're going through, but you're strong, Daisy. You're the strongest person I know. Look what you've done with yourself so far. You had a kid, launched a career, made a life for yourself. You can do this. You need to do this.”

“I'm leaning on Charlie too much,” she fretted. “It's terrible of me to be so emotionally dependent on my little boy. But honestly, he's the only reason I take the next breath of air. If not for Charlie, I wouldn't bother.”

Tears sparkled in Sonnet's eyes. “Aw, Daisy. Do us all a favor and keep breathing, okay?”

 

A police escort drove in front of the shiny black hearse, two cars ahead of Daisy. She was shocked to see the entire main street of Avalon lined with citizens holding flags, most of them strangers to her but all of them showing an attitude of deep respect. Although she hadn't brought her camera, she couldn't stop herself from framing the scene with a photographer's eye, seeing everything in heartbreaking detail. There were old men in lawn chairs, wearing veteran's medals. Teenagers held out cell phones to take photos. A clutch of bikers, helmets held under their arms, watched from the roadside. A mother held her toddler on top of a newspaper vending box, pointing out the flags on the hearse. Shopkeepers stood in front of their stores, and tourists spontaneously stopped and stood still. Many put their hands to their
hearts as the cortege passed. The flags at the library and town hall flew at half mast.

“It's like a parade,” Charlie said, pressing his hands to the window.

“Kind of,” Sonnet agreed. She was driving and Daisy sat in the passenger seat, trying not to claw her way out of the car, burst past the crowd and escape.

“It's really sad,” Charlie added. “I'm sad.”

“We all are. The whole town is. They're showing respect for Julian, because he was brave and good.” Sonnet's voice broke, and she cleared her throat. “I need a root beer barrel. You want a root beer barrel, Charlie?”

Daisy passed out the candies, taking one for herself, though she could hardly swallow past the lump in her throat. She loved the people of Avalon for the gesture. At the same time, she wanted to scream at them—What are you crying about? You didn't know him….

“Look, there's where Dad works,” Charlie said. “And there's Dad. Hi, Dad!”

Logan's business was located next door to the radio station. The display window was painted with the slogan, O'Donnell Insurance Agency—You're Safe With Us. Logan stood in the doorway of the building. He didn't seem to see Charlie, waving from the backseat of the car. Logan's gaze was fixed on the hearse. He held his Yankees cap to his chest, and his expression was completely unreadable. Daisy had no idea how the news had affected him. He and Julian had been rivals, which was ridiculous, since there was no competition for her heart. She was loyal to Logan, who had been nothing but good to her and Charlie. But her heart had always been with Julian.

Mourners packed the Heart of the Mountains Church.
Julian's mother, his aunt, uncle and cousin Remy were there. Remy wept openly, his huge size magnifying each shuddering sob. “He shouldn't have died,” said Julian's cousin as everyone filed in. “I gave him a kit to survive, with matches and a compass. He shouldn't have died.”